Together Again
by Fyrie
Summary: And come back to a different Jellicle life : a story about what happens to the ones who are left behind, and how love can continue even beyond death.
1. Together Again - Part 1

Together Again

If I was ever told I'd be writing something like this, I would have laughed and said that it was crazy…and that's just what it is! Totally, absolutely and fantastically crazy.

  
Maybe I should just tell you the story. Let you judge for yourself and you are allowed to think I'm insane. I certainly think I am.

  
My name is Demi Terre, I'm 24 years old and – up until six weeks ago – I was certified sane. I would say I'm a decent-looking girl, but I have the weirdest colouring. My hair has always been a bizarre mixture of black and golden-blonde, which seemed even weirder with my bone-white skin and amber coloured eyes. 

  
I'm used to having people stare at me. That's why I prefer working with animals. They don't stare half as much. I'm a vet/animal psychologist, so I spend my life surrounded by animals, which I like.

  
Of all the animals I work with, cats have always been my favourite. I seem to have an affinity for felines and I have about eight at home…maybe that's why what happened, happened the way it did.  
  
I was working in the surgery as usual, all those short weeks ago, when a tomcat was brought in for a check up. His owner said he'd been listless and had just been moping around the house for days, even if the sun happened to be shining bright…but on other days, he'd hurtle around the house wrecking anything that got in the way.

  
He was in a carry case and I was used to working with felines, but what I didn't expect was the feeling that hit me when that stunning silver tabby was lifted out of the basket. I can't explain it. It felt like I had seen him before, but I knew that was impossible.

  
His owner said his name was Ziggy, but he only looked disdainful when she called him and tried to cajole him into playing. He just lay there, as I leaned over to examine him.

  
"Careful," His owner cautioned, "He's a bit vicious with strangers. He tends to scratch and bite quite a bit."

  
As if he was listening, the tom lazily rolled over and stared up at me out of clear, curious green eyes. I gently stroked his tummy, never taking my eyes from his and I smiled as he purred, rubbing against my hand. 

  
"Well, I never did!" The woman exclaimed.

  
"I have a knack with cats." I murmured, unable to tear my eyes away from those green ones. I'd never seen eyes that bright before. I moved my hand slowly up and rubbed behind his ears, but his eyes narrowed slightly.

  
"Your hands are cold." The voice was a soft, rich tenor. I looked up at the woman, but she was staring down at her cat.

  
"Pardon?" I said.

  
"I didn't say a word." She frowned, looking at me with a funny expression in her eyes. I had a feeling that she was messing about. Playing some kind of ventriloquism trick on me, so I decided the best thing to do would be ignore it.

  
I started checking the cat over, tearing my eyes away from his. The way he had been acting was common with toms that needed a mate and I explained this to his owner, relieved that she hadn't done her ventriloquism trick again.

  
"Do you want him to mate?" I enquired.

  
"Yes please!" That tenor voice replied, gleefully.

  
"No, I'd rather not have a lot of kittens from this terror." She shook her head, "I have a older female at home, but I definitely don't want any kittens from them."

  
"That dame?" The tenor voice murmured again, "Wouldn't touch her with a barge pole!"  
  
I glanced down at the cat, who looked back up at me and I could have sworn I saw a glimmer of laughter in his eyes.

  
"Do you want him sterilised?" I asked.

  
"Noooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"  
  
"When could that be done?" The woman looked down at the tomcat, who stared up at her blankly.  
  
"I have no appointments this afternoon, so I could do it then." I stroked the cat's fur gently, "And you could come and get him tomorrow if that is all right for you."

  
"Hey! Wait!" The soft voice had taken on a pleading note, "Can't we talk about this? I wasn't that bad! Please? I want to have kittens! I want to be a daddy! Pleeeeeeeeeeeease?"

  
I stared down at the cat again, who was leaning against me, backing away from its owner. It couldn't be that, could it?

  
"I'm sure that would be fine." She smiled pleasantly at me. "I think it'll do him good."

  
"WHAT??? This is my tom-hood you want to take away! And you think it'll do me good? What will the guys say?"

  
"Make an appointment at the reception and I'll see you tomorrow." I reached down and picked the large tom up, watching as the woman made her way to the door, waving back to the cat.

  
"Be good, kitty, and mummy will be back tomorrow for you when you're all better."

  
"Call yourself a mother?" The voice yelled, "Would you cut off your son's reproductive organs? You stupid pollicle!"

I shook my head, as the door closed, shifting the cat in my arms. It was going a bit too far and it wasn't even that funny, I thought.

  
"I like you ma'am, but I'd be grateful if you took your hand off my di…"

  
"Okay, stop it!" I yelled, cutting off its words, looking around angrily, "It's not even funny!"  
  
"Of course its not bloomin' funny!" The voice shouted back, equally angry, "You're squashing my special bits with your cold hands! I can't see how it would ever be funny!"

  
"Who…what are you?" It was starting to unnerve me a lot.

  
"Look down." I did and met the cat's eyes again, "Hello gorgeous." He winked at me! I couldn't believe it! If I could believe my eyes, a cat was flirting with me!

  
"Are you talking…to me?" I asked hesitantly, feeling kind of stupid asking a cat that kind of question.  
  
"Can you see anyone else?" His voice asked silkily, those bright green eyes twinkling merrily.

  
"How can I understand…hear you?"

  
"You must be a re-born Jellicle." He replied, wriggling slightly to move my hand from its rather precarious position on his anatomy. He narrowed his eyes, scrutinising me carefully. Finally, he whispered, "Demi?"

  
"H…how did you know my name?"

  
"You…um…you were my mate in one of your previous lives." He answered, looking away, as if overcome with emotion. "You and I were meant to be together permanently, but Macavity murdered you and something went wrong in the Heaviside Layer…you're spirit ended up in an already-living human who was similar in nature to you."

  
"Wait a minute…I'm meant to be your mate?" I shook my head in confusion, "What do you mean? Who's this Macavity? Why would I be murdered? What's the Heaviside Layer?"

  
"You don't remember?" His eyes filled with tears, "Oh, Demi, I loved you so much and you can't even remember me!"

  
"I…I remember seeing you before, but you seemed bigger…somehow." I was so certain that it was all some weird dream that I didn't even think about arguing.

  
"Well, you were a cat." He replied gently, nestling against my chest. Suddenly he looked up at me, a naughty gleam in his eyes, "But I do like your new, in-built pillows."

  
"Most guys seem to like them." I said with a grin.

  
"You know," He became serious," You are as beautiful as a human as you were as a cat…I just wish I could be the same species as you. Even for just one night. I lived to just hold you at night…just to touch you, to stroke your fur…to love you."

  
"Oh, Munkustrap." I murmured, then frowned, "Munkustrap? What does that mean?"

  
"You remember!" He shouted triumphantly. "That's my name! You remember me!"

  
I remembered love. I remembered loving him…but it wasn't him…just as it wasn't me. It seemed like it was so long ago. Like some half-forgotten dream.

  
"I wish I could remember it all, Munkustrap." I murmured unhappily. He was the reason I'd stayed alone for so long. I had never been interested in any man, because they never lived up to the image he had left imprinted in my mind. He had meant everything to me.

  
"I know, beautiful." He nuzzled me kindly, his eyes understanding.

  
"What happened to me, Munkustrap? Who is Macavity?" Even though it was bizarre, I had to know who I was. What I was. "Please? I need to understand…to know."

  
"He wanted you and thought he could get you through violence." Lowering his face, he hoarsely whispered, "He kidnapped you…raped you…and when you wouldn't give in to him, he beat you…you died just after we found you …in my arms."

  
I felt tears of anger welling up in my eyes, wanting to tear apart the evil cat who ruined both our lives. Pressing me eyes shut, I felt memories surging over me…

  
"NO!" I screamed, dropping Munkustrap, falling to my knees, trembling. It was the face that had haunted my nightmares. I remembered fighting, scratching, biting, anything to escape those cruel paws. I remembered my shame…my pain…my fury…and that laughing, mocking, ginger-furred monster. I could never forget him.

  
Covering my face with my shaking hands, I curled up helplessly on the cold floor, sobbing, as the memories continued to pummel me mercilessly. Now I knew why I had forgotten.  
  
"Dem." I jumped, as a gentle paw touched me. "Dem, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you."  
  
Looking up, I found Munkustrap gazing sorrowfully down at me and I could see the torment my agonies and death had caused him. Tentatively, he rubbed his face against my cheek, drying the tears that glittered there.

  
"I…I knew." I finally whispered, wrapping my arms around him, burying my face in his thick fur, "That's why I had tried to forget." Shuddering, I swallowed a sob and shook my head. "Oh, Munk, why do things have to be so difficult?"

  
"I wish I knew…" He paused, a cheeky glint returning to his eyes, "One reason could be that you promised the boss-lady that you would cut off my pride and joy!"

  
"Oh dear!" I had to give him a rye grin. "How can I get out of that one?"

  
Looking around conspiratorially, he beckoned me closer and sneakily whispered, "Charge her and I swear I'll never touch that ugly old queen she's got at home."

  
"You little con-artist!" I had to laugh at his mock-innocent expression, all the wild emotions of the previous moments hastily forgotten. "You'd better not touch that dame!"

  
"There's always only been one cat for me." He replied softly, licking my cheek lightly. I knew it was absurd, but I blushed, feeling that little gesture was more intimate than anything a human would do.

  
"But how can I let you go again, now that I know all this?" Life had suddenly got a lot more complicated. For one, I'd found out I was in love with a cat! That is a bit of a complication for any girl! 

  
"It'll work out somehow." He looked as dazed as I felt, "At least now I know how to find you. I know what to do if I ever want to get attention from you."

  
"Let me guess," I smiled, "You act sick and con the boss-lady into bringing you back here."

  
"Got it in one." He winked mischievously, "But I'll have to talk to my dad, to see if there's anything we can do so I can be with you again."

  
"Is it possible?" I needed that tiny speck of hope. Something to cling to. Proof that I wasn't meant to be alone all my life.

  
"I think there could be a way." He replied absently, as if his mind was somewhere else. "It might not seem like a good idea, but it could work." Raising those stunning eyes to me, he smiled, "We'd be together. That's the important thing, right?"

  
I nodded, then realised that I had spent a heck of a lot of time with one little customer. He made several naughty remarks as I told him I was going to lock him up for the night, but smiled and said he understood.

  
All I heard for the next two hours was that cheerful tenor voice loudly singing a bizarre medley of music, with the lyrics changed to graphic and naughty lines. I suppose I would have seemed pretty crazy when people walked in and found me rolling on the floor in hysterics, listening to a singer that no one else could hear! Still, it cheered me up.

  
I sneaked him home that night, which I found even stranger, and we spent the night lying on my massive bed just talking quietly about life. All my memories of home – both good and bad – came back to me and more than once I ended up in tears.

  
Kinda makes me wonder how I coped when I had to give him back to his owner. I think his "And you said I was a con!" jibe as I accepted her cheque for his 'snip' helped me.

  
He came back at least once a week after that, feigning all manner of illness and playing up to symptoms I described to him from veterinary medical journals.

  
His arrival certainly brightened up my life and I couldn't imagine not knowing him. Every week, I'd eagerly await his arrival, suffering from some mystery ailment, just so I could talk to him again.   
  
And, every week without fail, he'd arrive, acting up to the symptoms perfectly. If this was the only way we could be together, I was willing to stick with it.

  


* * *

  
  
I couldn't believe it, when the Boss-Lady took me into the Vet's a few weeks ago and she was there! My Dem! I had searched for her everywhere, since she had died and then I just dropped into her lap!  
  
I didn't realise it was her at first, but then, looking at her, she was exactly what Dem would have been like, if she had been a human all the time. She was the most beautiful cat I had ever known…and seeing this vet was the first time I could say I had found a human to equal her.  
  
My last memory of Demeter, in feline form, was after we – the Jellicles – had stormed Macavity's lair and found her there. Bleeding. Battered. Dying. Her dazzling gold and black fur stained with crimson blood, her face barely recognizable, her body torn and defiled.  
  
I had touched her gently, but she backed away, screaming. I could only begin to imagine what that malevolent brute had done to her beyond the visible evidence.  
  
It had taken a lot of coaxing to persuade her that it really was me. That I meant her no harm. Holding her in my arms, I had felt the life ebbing from her. Even if she had survived his brutality, the lively spirit we had all known so well had been callously murdered.  
  
It took her several hours to fall asleep, her restless consciousness, haunted by terrifying waking nightmares, hallucinations and sheer terror. I knew there was no chance of her survival. It tore me apart to sit there, holding her, unable to do anything.  
  
Finally, she opened her golden eyes and smiled at me. Her final words were, "I love you, Munk. I'll see you in the morning." Then she had nestled close to me and shut her eyes for the last time, her last breath as quiet as the one before.  
  
After her death, everything changed. My life seemed pointless. We were meant to be together forever, but no. Fate had taken her away. I thought that would be it. That she was gone. That I'd have to live without her…but Old Deuteronomy called me to him one day.  
  
He told me that she was still alive. In a way. He said that our love was so special that she hadn't made it all the way to the Heaviside Layer. That she was lingering somewhere…that she could still be alive.  
  
I had never imagined that she would have found a human that she could live with and as. But that's what happened. She found Demi Terre and they became one person.  
  
In a way, that made things harder for both of us. We could remember each other, but we were so different now, in form, if not anything else. There was no way we could have stayed like that. That's why I'm doing what I think is right for both of us.  
  
Looking up the road, I can see the car coming. Swallowing hard, I step down off the pavement, hidden by a parked van. The vehicle is speeding and I know there was no way for it to stop. I have to do it for her, if not myself.  
  
So, without looking back, I run out onto the road…  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Then it happened. It seemed like my worst nightmare, even though he was only a cat. 'Only a cat'. I have to keep telling myself that, even if it hurts. Nothing could have come of our old lives. Still, it didn't help when he was brought in yesterday. Dying.  
  
It was late and I was about to close the surgery. Practically everyone else had headed off home and I was clearing up when there was a frantic battering at the door.  
  
It was the woman I had come to know as the Boss-lady and cradled in her arms was an unconscious, bloody Munkustrap.  
  
"Please! Help me!" She cried, staring pleadingly at me as I fumbled with the locks and hurriedly led her through to the main surgery, laying him down on the smooth surface.  
  
Running my hands over him, I felt him wince. Jagged, cracked bones protruded from his chest and his breath was bubbling and hissing in his lungs, that I could guess had been punctured.  
  
"What happened?" I asked, while trying to do what I could.  
  
"He…he ran in front of a car…" She tearfully stared down at him. "It seemed almost deliberate…he waited til he saw a car coming and ran onto the road."  
  
"Maybe you should wait outside." I suggested quietly, noticing one of his eyes starting to flicker open. She nodded and went silently through to reception.  
  
"Hi Dem." His voice was lower than a whisper, filled with pain.  
  
"Munk, what did you do this for?" I asked, half-angry, half-terrified that I'd lose him.  
  
"For you, Dem." He breathed weakly, "It's the only way…I can't let you waste your life on me…I'm not the same species…it can't work."  
  
"Oh Munk…" I was crying freely, my hands trembling, as I tried to help him. "You silly, silly cat!"  
  
"Dem," He knocked my hands away feebly, "I had to know…if it would happen again…I made a deal…a vow…let me die…it's the only way…I can't live like this any more…without you to hold…to love."  
  
"What are you talking about?" I sobbed furiously, wishing I could pick him up and give him a shake.  
  
"I wanted to see if I could do the same as you, Dem." He whispered, his head sinking back, his eyes closing with the effort, "To see if I could become a human too." A tear ran slowly down his cheek, "I…I wanted to be with you…I thought…if I died, I could be again."  
  
I felt hot tears splashing down my cheeks and ran my hand over his head, finding no words. He rubbed his head against my palm and whispered, "If I can, I will come back."  
  
"And if you can't?" My voice rose to a shrill hysterical sob, "Munk? What if you can't?"  
  
"I guess you'll…find someone else." He opened his eyes and gazed lingeringly up at me, but I could see the pain saying those words caused him. "There are a lot of good men out there."  
  
He was weakening, even if he was trying to hide it and nothing I could do would be able to save him. I knew that. I wish I didn't but I did. Slowly, I sat up on the surface with him and carefully lifted him up, cradling him tenderly in my arms.  
  
"Please, don't leave me, Munk…" I pressed my face against the blood-matted ruff of fur around his throat, feeling his heart beating against my hot cheek, "I can't live without you."  
  
"I love you, Dem." He mustered enough strength to whisper, "And I will come back for you."  
  
Then it stopped. Just like that. That steady heartbeat. Gone. That voice. Those bright eyes. Everything. I felt his crushed body growing limp and heavy in my arms, but didn't want to move.   
  
This could be the last time I had to hold him. Ever. Sitting in the dim room, I wept, running my fingers through his fur, rocking back and forth, low animalistic whimpers tearing me apart, salty tears burning my eyes and streaming down my cheeks.  
  
Finally, I stood up and carefully laid him down on the smooth worktop, caressing his wild fur again. Wiping away my tears, I started to clean the blood off his marvelous silver and black fur, closing those beautiful once-bright green eyes.  
  
The Boss-lady was still waiting. I let her come in and see her beautiful cat one last time, noticing the tears in her eyes too.   
  
"Did he suffer much?" She asked, touching his face lightly.  
  
I shook my head, unable to think of anything to say. Lowering my head, I stood silently, rubbing my trembling hands, a lump forming in my throat.  
  
"Do…do you want me to take care of him?" I finally mumbled, fighting back another wave of tears.  
  
"Oh…yes, I think I would prefer that." I reached over and squeezed her hand gently. "How…how much do I owe you?" She asked, biting her lip, struggling to fight back her own tears.  
  
"It's alright. I couldn't do anything for him." I replied, feeling absolutely useless, "I don't want to take anything from you for doing nothing."  
  
We must have stood there for almost half an hour, just gazing down at the stunning feline, but finally she turned to me, whispered her thanks and quietly left.  
  
I was drained. Emotionally. Physically. Mentally. But, I still had one more thing I had to do.  
  
Kneeling in my massive back garden, I slowly lowered Munkustrap's body into a small grave I had dug. I had got to know him so much that I almost expected him to jump up and shout "Surprise!" but he just lay there.  
  
Filling in the grave, I covered it over, kneeling there for a little longer, just remembering his mischievous sense of humour that kept me laughing when I wasn't meant to.  
  
Knowing there was nothing else for me to do, I returned into the house and flopped down on the sofa and cried. As far as I could see my life was over.  
  


* * *

  
  
A year later.  
  
Rina glanced around the door, grinning naughtily at Demi. "What would you say, if I told you I'd arranged a little surprise for you?" She enquired.  
  
"Oh no!" Demi rolled her eyes, "Not another blind date!"  
  
"Hey! I didn't say it was a blind date!" Rina laughed, tossing her long red braid back over her shoulder. "C'mon, sis, its your birthday present! Do you want a surprise?"  
  
"That depends." Demi replied absently, sweeping her hair back from her face, concentrating on fixing tiny cannons onto her model ship.  
  
"On what?"  
  
"What the surprise is." Demi chewed on her lip, carefully lowering the miniscule cannon in place, "If it involves dancing with a stripper…again, then no."  
  
"But he was cute!"  
  
"It's not him again, is it?" Demi raised her golden eyes to meet her sister's brown ones.  
  
"Its not!" Rina giggled, leaning over Demi's shoulder to eye the ship, "I promise it won't be the slightest bit degrading for you, this time."  
  
"It won't?" She raised a cynical golden eyebrow, "Well, there has to be a catch, if its not degrading for me."  
  
"There's no catch, I promise." Rina crossed her hand over her heart and tilted her head. "Just say you'll come with me." Pouting, she widened her eyes innocently, "Pwease."  
  
"Will it shut you up?" Demi grinned at her sister.  
  
"Yep." The red-haired twenty-year-old batted her eyes and did her best angelic expression, "So? Will you?"  
  
"I guess so." Demi nodded absently, lowering the model ship and standing up, brushing tiny bits of plastic off her clothes.  
  
"Well?"  
  
"Well what?"  
  
"Are you going to go and get ready?" Rina grinned engagingly, "We've got to be there in two hours…and counting."  
  
"And what would you have done if I said no?" Demi allowed herself to be ferried up the stairs to her room.  
  
"I would have taken you hostage." Rina replied. "We'd be going to this, whether you wanted to or not!"  
  
  


* * *

  
  
"So, will I do?" Demi made a small twirl at the top of the stairs.  
  
"Oh brother!" Rina groaned. "And I don't even have time to make you get changed now!"  
  
Demi grinned, winding the scrunchie once more around the end of her braid. "I thought it looked quite good." She said teasingly, tightening the belt around her waist.  
  
"You were meant to get dressed up, Dem." Rina retorted, opening the front door. "You weren't meant to put on your oldest black jeans…or that tatty shirt!"  
  
"You didn't tell me that." Demi argued, racing out to the jeep and leaping into the passenger seat. "C'mon, lets get this show on the road."  
  
"As you wish, my lady." Rina retorted, turning to grin at the young next-door neighbour, winking at him.  
  
"Rina! Leave the poor boy alone!"  
  
"You're really going to love tonight!" Rina slid into the driver's seat, glancing at the young neighbour again with a pout. "You're lucky I could get a night off!"  
  
"So, where are we going?" Demi enquired, as they roared off down the road, towards the station.  
  
"Just wait and see." Rina grinned naughtily. "Wait and see."  
  


* * *

  
  
"Here we are!" The pair of them stepped out of the cab, onto the bustling pavement and gazed up at the building. "This is where I work."  
  
"And you brought me here to see what you actually do?" Demi turned to stare at her sister.  
  
"Well, kinda."  
  
"So, what are you? A box-office-type person?" Demi suddenly realised she had no idea what her little sister did for a living.  
  
"Nope." Rina grinned, grabbing her sister's hand. "I'm in the show."   
  
Demi felt like she could have been knocked down with a feather. "But you don't have the energy to do a show like that…its really fast and energetic, I've heard."  
  
"Why do you think I never have any energy?" Rina grinned again, pulling her sister into the building, flashing a pair of tickets. "I persuaded them to let me have one night off to bring you to see the show…" She glanced around conspiratorially. "I've never actually seen it from out front!"  
  
Weaving her way skillfully and gracefully between the other patrons, Rina lead the way up to the front row seats and proudly grinned at her shell-shocked big sister.  
  
"If you don't mind me asking," Demi remarked, "Who do you play?"  
  
"Oh, you'll know." Rina laughed. "You just have to see the character and you'll know."  
  
Settling in their seats, Demi realised they had just arrived in time, as the lights dimmed and the overture started, cats eyes flickering on all over the theatre.   
  
As the cast began to emerge, Demi felt a tingle run up her spine. The second cat crept out and immediately locked eyes with her. Biting her lip, she shifted in her seat.   
  
She couldn't say what it was, but she couldn't take her eyes off him…until a wild, red, flirtatious female came out and she had to laugh, glancing at her sister, who shrugged helplessly.  
  
Still, she still found her eyes wandering to the first tomcat she had seen. There was something about him. Something infinitely sensual and feline rang through his every motion. If she hadn't read the cast list, she could have believed that he was a cat.  
  
Tilting his head at her, as if noticing her scrutiny, he slowly crawled towards her, raising himself on his knees to gaze at her, holding out his 'paw' to touch her hand.  
  


* * *

  
  
I couldn't breathe. I forced myself to remember that he was just an actor, playing the same part he played every night…but it was insanely hard when he ran his fingers down mine. It was like electricity.  
  
Swallowing hard, I forced myself back in my seat, trembling from head to toe. Never before had one gentle little touch left me gasping for breath like I was then.  
  
Dropping down on my bed, I just lay there thinking back to the show. I couldn't believe how much I was drawn to that 'cat' and after the whole spectacular show had finished, I had got the shock of my life.  
  
Asking Rina the name of the big silver tabby, she replied 'Munkustrap.' I almost collapsed there and then. No wonder I had gone weak. He reminded me of what Munkustrap was like. And, to make things ten times worse, as we made our way back down the aisle, while Rina stopped to sign a few autographs for faithful fans, I glanced back to see 'Munkustrap' scanning the leaving audience.  
  
Suddenly, he leapt off the stage and raced down, jumping over empty chairs and crawling between people's feet, towards Rina and I. Nudging her, I stepped behind her, expecting him to talk to her…but he side-stepped around her and grinned at me.  
  
Reaching into my pocket, I stood up and went through to the bathroom, sitting down on the edge of the running bath, pulling out the crumpled note that he had sneakily pressed into my palm.  
  
"Happy birthday, Dem." He'd said, loudly enough for anyone nearby to hear, reaching up to loosen my hair and rubbing his silver and black wig against my now-wild mane, squeezing my paw…um…hand, with a cheeky grin. Then he'd scampered back up to the deserted stage and glanced back once more, before disappearing into a pipe.  
  
It was only after we got out of the theatre that I actually realised that he had slipped something into my hand…but, so Rina didn't get the wrong end of the stick, I crumpled it and hastily hid it in my pocket.  
  
Now, in the privacy of my bathroom, I slowly unfold the note and hesitantly read it. My eyes widen with disbelief and I feel tears brimming in my eyes.   
  
How dare he! How could he use the identity of my late-mate to try and get a date with me? Suddenly, I have to laugh. Of course, he doesn't know that …but asking me if I want a date with a silver tabby, must be a very 'original' chat up line for him.  
  
Shrugging, I lazily deposit my clothes in a heap on the floor and toss the note into the bin, sliding under the hot water in the bath. I would have to be crazy to agree to meet the guy, I tell myself.  
  


* * *

  
  
"Demi!" Rina bellowed from downstairs, "Get your butt down here!"  
  
"Wha…?" Demi stumbled down the stairs, sleepily rubbing her eyes with one hand, tying the dressing-gown cord with the other. "Wassa matter?"  
  
"What's this?" Rina held up the note accusingly. "Where and when did you get this?"  
  
Frowning, Demi blinked at her sister. "What do you mean 'where did I get it?'?" She retorted sharply, reaching over to snatch it back "Where did you get it?"  
  
"It was on the table, when I came down!" Rina leapt back, out of reach. "So, spill."  
  
"That Munk actor gave it to me." Demi shambled stiffly after her sister, still trying to snag the note, not even half-awake. "Now, give it back to me."  
  
"Not unless you agree to go!"  
  
"Rina!" Demi groaned, collapsing into the nearest chair, her hair tumbling around her face. "I can't be bothered with this! Give me the note!"  
  
"Agree to see him and I might…if you don't show up, he'll make my life hell!" Rina put her hands on her hips and glared threateningly down at her big sister.  
  
"Okay, okay…I'll go." Demi groaned again, burying her face in her hands, "As long as you shut uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup!"  
  
Demi found herself getting dragged up the stairs at full speed, by the dancing Rina, who broke happily into song as they reached Demi's bedroom.  
  
"Lemme see your wardrobe!" She sang, taking a flying leap onto the tangled heap of bedcovers on the floor. "Impress me with your debonair taste!"  
  
Staggering over, Demi pushed the doors open, then stumbled back over to her bed, curling up sleepily on the bare mattress, noticing – detachedly – that it was half past six in the morning.  
  
"You call that a wardrobe?" Rina squealed, leaping to her feet.  
  
"Ri, its not even 7am…its my day off…go away and wake me up later… say about noon." Demi pulled a pillow over her head and yawned.  
  
"Uh-uh!" Rina yelled, pulling the pillow away and yanking Demi to her feet. "We're getting ready and going shopping in London!"  
  
"Oh no…" Demi allowed herself to be propelled towards the bathroom, a pile of clothes thrust into her hand, "But its too early."  
  
"By the time we're ready and get to the station, it'll almost be 8am and the shops open early this weekend, so we'll get to London at 9am and the shops will be waiting."  
  
"But…" Demi frantically searched for an excuse, "Um…I have no money!"  
  
"But," Rina retorted with a grin, "I have a credit card…now get dressed and ready to go!"  
  
  


* * *

  
  
"Do I have to do this?" Gazing out of the cab, up at the restaurant, Demi bit her lip nervously.  
  
"Yes." Rina smiled fondly. "You can't have me spending all that money then you refuse to go in. You look fantastic…now, go!"  
  
Giving her sister a watery smile, Demi stepped hesitantly out onto the pavement, brushing her new dress down to settle smoothly around her soft curves.  
  
Starting up the steps, she glanced back at her sister, who grinned and waved her on. Sighing nervously, she ran lightly up the steps, pausing to look at her reflection in the window…she really would never have recognised herself at all!  
  
Gazing back at her was a stunning-looking woman clad in a black and gold silk sheath dress, her gold and black hair artistically styled and settling lightly on her slim shoulders. Wide golden eyes were highlighted with skillfully applied make-up and her lips looked smooth and soft.  
  
Grinning, she shook her head with a soft laugh. Trust Rina to make her look just like a professional model. She'd never seen a vet that looked anything like that.  
  
Stepping into the revolving door, she fought the urge to run through at full speed, as she usually did. Instead, she gracefully made her way through and asked for the table that the 'tom' had said he had booked.   
  


* * *

  
  
I was twenty minutes early, so I ordered a drink, while looking out of the window at the view of the illuminated Millenium dome on the opposite bank of the Thames.  
  
I found my mind wandering back to the previous night, until I was gently tapped on the shoulder and I spun to find the waiter standing behind me. He politely asked if I wanted another drink – which I declined – and left. I looked at my watch. He was late!  
  
Sighing, I swirled my wine around in my glass. That's it, I decided, if he's more than fifteen minutes late, I'm leaving.  
  
Glancing over at the doors, I saw the doorman was having a bit of trouble with a patron. Something about inappropriate footwear for a restaurant reached my ears.   
  
Shaking my head, I turned back to the window, feeling the minutes trickle by and just as I was about to get to my feet to leave, I heard footfalls behind me and a man slipped into the seat opposite me, with a sigh of mock-relief.  
  
"I thought they'd never let me in." He remarked, with a sheepish grin. "The doorman likes annoying me."  
  
"Um…who are you?" I asked, gazing at him. I didn't really need to ask. I could tell from the way he moved that it was the actor. And he wasn't just a good-looking tom-cat. He was a very good-looking man.  
  
"Oh!" Holding out a hand, he took mine and raised it to his lips, with a smile. "I'm Menke Strepp." He replied, with more than a hint of a South African accent.  
  
"That's an unusual name." I remarked quietly, "Rather appropriate for the character you play."  
  
"Hey." He held up his hands, with a grin that dimpled his cheeks. "You can't blame me! It was my cruel parents!" Running his hand through his jet-black hair – which was oddly-streaked with silver at the temples – he remarked, "Its their fault I'm late."  
  
"Oh really?" I murmured skeptically, raising my eyes to his green ones. "And how would that work?"  
  
"The doorman thinks they spoil me, so he got all strict on the no sneakers policy." He shrugged. "But I called my dad and had to give him a good reason to let me in."  
  
"And it worked?"  
  
"Actually," He leaned forward conspiratorially, "I got down on my knees and begged, but don't tell anyone!"  
  
I half-smiled, but forced myself to keep a straight face. "Why would your dad let you in with a good reason?" I asked.  
  
"He owns the joint." Menke grinned broadly, his eyes twinkling merrily.  
  
"So that's why you wanted me to come here." I cried accusingly, biting back a laugh, "Cos you can get free meals!"  
  
"You figured me out." He laughed, a rueful expression crossing his face, "Normally nobody I bring here knows its dad's place."  
  
"And yet," I breathed, gazing at him, "You felt you could tell me."  
  
Nodding, he tilted his head – in his overpowering feline manner – and gazed penetratingly at me. "You're different." He answered quietly. "You're special."  
  
I felt myself blushing beet-red under his cool and steady gaze and looked shyly away, muttering, "So when do we get this free meal?"  
  
  


* * *

  
  
I'm the luckiest guy in the world. I have never seen a woman look as stunning as the one who sits opposite me now. Everything about her is beautiful: her face, her hair, her body…her voice.  
  
She is so happy and bright, I can't imagine why no one has snapped her up before now. She almost glows with life and beauty. I guess that what makes me even luckier. She agreed to see me and she is such a wonderful person.  
  
Maybe things will develop…but she seems to be haunted by memories. Of what she won't say, but I can see them there, in haunted by memories. Of what she won't say, but I can see them there, in her eyes. 

Of a lost love…or something along those lines. Maybe I can help her put the past behind her. I hope I can. She doesn't deserve to spend her life pining for me…I mean, Mun…I mean…oh, forget it.   
  


* * *

  
  
Laughing merrily, Demi smiled at her companion, glancing out at dancing couples on the patio.  
  
"That looks like fun." She remarked with a grin. She couldn't remember the last time she had laughed as much or enjoyed herself so much.  
  
"You dancin'?" He asked, feigning a bizarre quazi-Scots-cockney accent.  
  
"You askin'?" She gave the 'traditional' reply, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Ah'm askin'." He answered.  
  
"Then ah'm dancin'!" She laughed, as he held out a hand for hers.   
  
Pulling her to her feet, he slipped an arm around her waist and led her down to the patio, drawing her close, his hand pressing gently at the base of her back.   
  
Draping her arms over his wide shoulders, she laid her face against his strong chest, feeling his heart beating against her cheek. She barely reached his shoulder, as they swayed together to the familiar music, but it felt secure. Safe. Right.  
  
Stroking her soft hair, Menke softly started singing "I will always love you." And she knew he meant every word.  
  
Drawing back a pace, she stared up at him, as the soft lighting played on his features. His suddenly very feline features. She knew. She recognised him. It couldn't be anyone else.  
  
"You came back." She whispered, reaching up to touch his face.  
  
"I promised, didn't I?" He replied, equally softly, pulling her close and kissing her hesitantly on the lips.  
  
Nodding wordlessly, she clung to him, tears streaming down her face. Her fingers ran through his thick dark hair and she gave a laugh of sheer happiness.  
  
Tilting her face up to his, he softly murmured, "Dem, will you do the human thing and marry me?"  
  
"You bet I will." She smiled through her tears. "Just promise me we'll never be apart again."  
  
"I've just found you. I never want to lose you again." He whispered. "And I promise I'll do everything I can to keep it that way." Touching her face reverently, he smiled, gazing deep into her golden eyes. "I love you so much, Demeter." He pulled her even closer, burying his face in her thick, beautiful hair.  
  
"I love you just as much, Munkustrap." She replied, blinking back her tears, "And we're together again. Nothing can change that."  
  
  
  



	2. Together Again - Part 2

"I've asked you once "I've asked you once." The silken voice rippled over her, leaving her trembling. "And I'm going to ask once more…where is he?" The kitten backed away, her lower lip trembling, her terror more than apparent. "Tell me!" Vicious, razor-sharp claws swept out, tearing her pretty little face, leaving her sprawled, trembling on the ground. Lowering his voice to a gently menacing purr, he repeated. "Tell me. Tell me before I get VERY angry."   
"He died!" She screamed hysterically, as he advanced towards her menacingly. "He…he killed himself! Last year! Before the Jellicle ball!"    
"Oh?" A cynical golden eyebrow rose. "I don't recall hearing about that, my dear."   
"It's the truth. I swear." Sobbing, her trembling white paws raised in supplication, she stumbled over her words. "He wanted to try and join her…" Her aggressor paced away silently, half-listening. "She…she said she'd wait for him…but he had to become one too…to stay with her…"  
  
"Become one?" Careful to conceal his intrigue, he glanced carelessly back over his shoulder at her.   
  
"A human." The kitten pulled herself to her paws, her confidence in her safety growing. "They couldn't go to the Heaviside Layer separately cos they were special. He had to become one."   
"She became a human and he had to die so he could become one too?" The kitten nodded as he approached her again. Running a paw down her tear-streaked face he smiled. "That wasn't so bad?" He slammed her against the wall, his paw pressing murderously down on her slim throat. Ignoring her futile struggles, he raised an eyebrow and finished. "Was it?"   
As the body went limp, Macavity lowered his paw with a deep sigh. She had served her purpose, told him what he needed to know and – in the same instant – outlived her usefulness to him.   
Sitting back on his haunches, he licked his forepaw and started to groom his tangled fur, as he always did when he was deep in thought.   
"Dispose of that piece of rubbish." He growled, rising to his paws again. "I don't like to see it lying around."   
Immediately, the body disappeared, as the ruthless mystery cat paced ponderously across the room, his eyes calculating and cruel.   
"Uh…sir? What did she say?"   
Glancing at the agent out of the corner of his, Macavity sat down and quietly replied. "That the feeble Jellicle killed himself for love."   
"You won! If they both died, you beat them, boss! You won!"   
"No," Macavity shook his head. "They won. Their love defeated me. They live on in a different form. They are still happy." He sighed slowly, unsheathing his claws. "They became human. There's nothing I can do. They were destined to go to the Heaviside together and now they will."   
  
"Geez, boss." The agent frowned. "This is the first time you've let somebody beat you."   
"What did you say?" The voice was calm, but anyone close enough could see the malevolence gleaming in the half-hooded, sunken eyes.   
"It's the first time you l…" He choked off as Macavity pinned him, savagely digging his claws into the helpless tom's throat.   
"I never let anyone beat me." He growled, his face terrible. "And I don't intend to start now." Glaring at the tom, he added menacingly. "Is that clear?"   
"Yessir!" He gasped raspingly, feeling the claws drop away, thanking the everlasting cat that he was one of Macavity's most valued agents. That fact had saved his skin more times than he dared count.   
  
"But Mac, darlin'…" His latest queen raised her golden eyes to him. "They're human. Ye're…well, ye're just a flea-bitten cat."   
"That's true, my dear." Silkily running his eyes down her sleek body, he smiled knowingly. "But then, so were they." A cool smile curved the corner of his lips. "And I intend to do what they did."   
  
"C'mon boss!" Argued one of the toms. "Killing yerself for revenge is goin' a bit far! It might not work and then you'd be dead and they'd still be happy!"   
"It's the principal of the matter." Macavity rubbed his back up against the splintering walls with a sigh, his eyes half-closed in thought.   
"Principal?"   
  
"I can not allow them to believe they have defeated me!" he spat angrily. "And if I must die to prove it, I will."   
"How can you be sure it'll work?" One of his sophisticated, Earl's Court agents raised a neat eyebrow.   
  
"You just asked the $64,000 question." Turning to face the tom, Macavity smiled and icy smile. "I'll just have to test the theory." Slashing at the feline's throat, he stepped back to avoid the sudden spurt of blood.   
"Boss?" Reeling weakly, the tom collapsed in a puddle of his own blood. "Wh…?"   
Squatting down, Macavity smiled gently. "It's for your own good, Phipps. If you manage to get into a human body, come back here and let us see it has worked. If not… well, enjoy the Heaviside, my friend."   
Phipps' green eyes grew glassy, a rattle escaping his lips. Macavity smiled once more, looking up at the window above them. "And now," he murmured. "I'm going to go on a hunt for our illusive Munkustrap and Demeter. Each of you take and area and report back to me." 

*

  
"So, where do we eat?" Jamming one hand into the pocket of his jeans, Menke eyed his fiancee, a mischievous expression on his face. "And do you have enough money to pay for me too?"   
  
"Cheeky bugger." Squeezing his hand, she smiled, pushing her long black and gold hair back from her face, lowering her hand to gaze at the engagement ring that adorned her wedding finger. Strangely enough, it bore an uncanny resemblance to a Munkustrap collar, although she couldn't imagine why.   
  
"You're not regretting it, are you?" He gazed at her, his beautiful green eyes mesmerising. "The engagement, I mean?"   
  
"Don't be silly!" Hugging him, she grinned, resting her head against his powerful shoulder. "I need someone who is strong enough to carry my boxes for me!"   
  
Shaking his head with a laugh, he lowered his head to steal a quick kiss from her, rubbing his forehead gently against hers. "Still, we gotta go eat before I starve," He whined, rubbing his head against her shoulder pleadingly. "I do have another show to do, ya know!"   
  
"Well, here we go." Sticking her chin out cheekily, she marched into the small café she often visited in Covent Garden, gesturing for him to follow. "We'll do the Annie Lawson special, ok? Sausage rolls and orange juice."   
  
Rolling his eyes, he let her get the food and drinks, waiting for her outside the small shop. Watching the crowds bustle by, he looked down as something brushed against his ankle and gave a throaty chuckle.   
  
"My, my." He squatted down to look at the tatty ginger cat. "Lookie what we have here. You wouldn't happen to be a friend of a certain Macavity would you?"   
  
Hissing, the cat leapt away from him, its hackles raised, its tail whipping fiercely back and forth.   
  
"You certainly share his sweet temperament." Menke grinned, wondering if he should talk in the Jellicle dialect and see what kind of a response it would trigger as Demi walked out of the shop, a paper bag clutched in her slim hand. "Look, love." He pointed at the pavement, grinning at her.   
  
"Look at what, Menke?" She looked down. "What's so special about the pavement?"   
  
Frowning, Menke felt a tingle of worry run up his spine. Macavity's not there…that was the thing that had always scared him about that cat: that terrifying disappearing act. Could it have been Macavity? Surely not. What were the chances of Macavity tracking him down like that? "Uh…never mind… is there anything you wanted to talk to me about, love?"   
  
Leading him over to the sunniest spot she could see, she perched on the kerb and patted the space beside her with a provocative smile. "I have a suggestion, darlin'…and I suggest you hear me out."   
  
"Whatevah…can I get my sausage roll?" His unblinking green eyes locking with hers, she couldn't help but grin. She could never keep a straight face, even when he wasn't trying to outstare her.   
  
Holding the bag behind her, she shook her head. "Not until you listen to what I'm saying, matey." Wagging her finger severely, she frowned as he continued to stare longingly at the bag. Pushing it behind her back, she cupped his chin in her slim hands.   
  
"Eh? What did you say? I wasn't listening." The mischievous, mock-innocent look had returned to his face. Leaning closer, he stared her in the eyes again, blinking furiously. "I'll listen, I promise…if you give me the food!"   
  
"Not a chaaaaaaaaaargh!" Pinned down by her fiance, she yelped as he sat firmly on her stomach and snatched the bag of food. Dropping back and crouching defensively over the contents, his bared teeth only made her giggle more. "You cheat! You big old hairy cheat!"   
  
"You're only saying that because I outsmarted you again." Mumbling around a mouthful of sausage and pastry, he grinned like a naughty child, bulging his cheeks like a hamster's, his eyes squeezed shut.   
  
"Outsized me, more like!" She hissed, feigning annoyance, brushing some dirt off her back with an impatient hand. Grabbing the front of his shirt, she pulled his face close to hers. "Now listen to me, you big lout!"   
  
"Big…good choice of words, sweetheart." Kissing her teasingly on the nose, he raised his eyebrows suggestively.   
  
"Headed." She retorted quickly, narrowing her golden eyes at him, her temptaion to giggle again getting stronger with every second. "Now, are you going to behave or not?"   
  
"Will I get a scooby snack?" She could almost picture his tail wagging eagerly.   
  
Rolling her eyes, she patted him fondly on the head and shook her head. "You'll get me though. Isn't that a better reward."   
  
Shrugging expressively, he muttered. "If you say so…" Swallowing a mouthful of orange juice, he cheerfully enquired. "So, are you coming to see me perform again, next weekend, love?"   
  
"I have to wait a whole week?" Throwing her hand dramatically to her brow, she pouted and shook her head. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about, darlin'. I wanna see Starlight Express next weekend."   
  
"Starlight schmarlight." He grinned engagingly. "That show is nothing! It lacks the one thing that makes West End shows good and you're looking at it."   
  
"Sausage rolls?" Raising a blank eyebrow, Demi leaned forward and gently squeezed his hand, pouting prettily up at him. "But if you really loved me, you'd come and see it with me."   
  
"Nice try." He murmured, kissing her fingertips lightly. "But if you loved me, you'd come and see me in CATS again."   
  
Snatching her hand away, she glared at him "You're impossible!" She snapped sharply, folding her arms and turning away from him sulkily.   
  
"Stop being childish." He chided fondly, sliding closer. Resting his chin on her shoulder, he huskily whispered. "It doesn't suit you, you ravishingly sexy creature."   
  
"Please, Munk." Turning to face him, resorting to his old nickname, raising her golden eyes to him imploringly. "You never know…you might enjoy it…"  
  
"Nothing you can say will make me change my mi…"His eyes suddenly widened, as she ran her head up his body and purred huskily in his ear, her cheek lightly brushing against his as her fingers traced gently under his smooth-shaven chin. "You still remember that?" He breathed, a shiver running through him.   
  
"Your weakness?" She grinned impishly. "Sure I do…" Cupping his face in her slim hands, she whispered sexily. "And its not all that I remember…" Trailing off, she raised a suggestive eyebrow.   
  
"Oh?" A silver and black eyebrow mimicked her motion.   
  
"Oh yes." Pulling back with a provocative smile, she lowered her voice, her lips close to his ear. "On a condition…"  
  
"If you remember what I think you do…" Nuzzling his ear, her fingers tangling through his silk-like hair, she purred deeply and he moaned weakly in surrender. "Okay! Okay! You got yourself a deal! I'll do anything you say!"   
  
"Anything?"   
  
"Anything."   
  
Patting his thigh, she stood up with a grin. "There." She smiled. "That wasn't so hard was it?" Prodding her glazed-over fiance, she prompted. "Was it? Menke?"   
  
Raising his eyes to hers, a dopey grin on his face, he chuckled. "Anything…whoa momma! It was worth it!"   
  


* 

  
  
It's mine now. This is my body! I don't care what you're saying, I found you, I took you, so you're mine now.   
  
Maybe I was a horrible little cat once, but now look at me! Human! And jolly good-looking even if I do say so myself! Maybe Macavity's killing me was a good thing, I mean, I could do so much to this world…  
  
This body was apparently wealthy, like my owners…hah! No one owns me now! I can do what I like and when I like and I know just how to make this body behave as it used to as well.   
  
Maybe the voice of the past…er…occupant will shut up soon. He's not happy about being taken over, but I mean him no harm. If I can be rich and successful as a human, perhaps we can work together.   
  
Mind you, these feet take some getting used to…balance is difficult, but I have to learn. Standing upright, I'm tall, very tall and – oddly enough – I look just as I imagined myself as a human. Strangely like my former owner.   
  
I must find the boss. I don't know why, but I feel like I owe him something for this… situation. Maybe it's my way of saying thanks. Or maybe there's some other reason for me needing him around…  
  
Picking up my 'briefcase', I know where I have to go. Back to the Lair, if I can find the way without my senses being as strong as they once were.   


*

Storming back and forth across the floor of the lair, his eyes blazing, Macavity hissed and spat his rage. None of the strays dared to approach him, as he snapped out his claws, slamming them into the panelled wall, tearing the massive boards down.   
  
"I don't believe it." He growled, his fur bristling, his tail thrashing wildly. "They are both alive and they are together."   
  
"Calm down, darling." A strange, slightly lisping male voice interrupted from the broken doorway. "That's no way to behave."   
  
Whirling around, Macavity leaned backwards to stare up at the human, his face the epitomy of surprise.   
  
The man was tall and impeccably dressed in a made-to-measure suit, with neatly trimmed, slicked-down black hair, a pair of stylish glasses perched on his long, slender nose. His face was thin, with the traditional upper-class pomposity written into his features. A briefcase hung from one almost-feminine hand, as he examined the perfectly manicured nails of his other hand.   
  
"Phipps?" Shaking his head in disbelief at his agent, Macavity met the pale blue eyes with curiosity.   
  
"Cedric Phipps." The man replied conversationally, taking off his glasses and removing a pocket kerchief to clean the already pristine lenses. "I'm assuming you have noticed my…new look, sir."   
  
"It worked." Macavity breathed, a triumphant gleam returning to his eyes. "How did you do it, Phipps?"   
  
Leaning on the edge of a dusty desk, Phipps smiled enigmatically. "You know I never left a job unfinished, sir." Macavity nodded, the gears of his mind bursting to life. "I decided that this was a job I had to do, just before I died. To do it, my spirit had to stay, since I had…well…work I had left unfinished." Shrugging elaborately, he concluded. "I found a suitable body and went in and here I am, darling! Isn't it fabulous?"   
  
"A suitable body?" Raising an eyebrow, Macavity reluctantly had to admit he couldn't picture Phipps in any other body. He looked like he was in his mid-forties and was exceptionally sophisticated-looking.   
  
Nodding once, Phipps smiled broadly. "I saw this chap and I knew I could use him." Tracing one finger across the back of his other hand, he chuckled deeply. "I mean, its just so me!"   
  
"And you just…went into him?"   
  
"That's exactly it, sir. And not only is he..." Striking a dramatic pose, he continued. "Exceptionally good-looking, but he's also apparently a rich business man, which could help you, if you want to retain the services of your agents as humans…we could keep the crime ring going, especially considering come of the connections this chap has."   
  
"All I have to do is find myself a suitable body?" How hard could that be? He already had one particular character in mind. Now, all he had to do was check they were – indeed – compatable.   


*

  
  
It had to be them. Who else could it be apart from that treacherous Jellicle and his precious little Demeter. Crouching down in the shadows, as the pair entered the small building, Macavity's lips drew back from his teeth in a snarl.   
  
"Hello, puss." A slurred human's voice spoke, a clumsy hand landing heavily on the wiry tom's tail.   
  
What have we here? Macavity released a pathetic little 'Miaow' as the human roughly picked him up and plopped him unceremoniously in his stinking lap, one hand ruffling the cat's straggly fur.   
  
Feigning contentment, Macavity scrutinised his assailant. He knew him, recognised him after several days of lurking outside the 'workplace' – as humans called it – of Demeter.   
  
The man was a beggar. A vagrant. And, Macavity had noted with approval, a person Demeter often fed and watered, out of the goodness of her heart, something the ginger tom found particularly pathetic. If this creature didn't make an effort to improve his station, why bother with him?   
  
However, this was the first time he had been close enough to examine the man. Clad in cast-offs from other people, he was a picture of poverty, a greasy cap stuck firmly onto his dirt-matted hair.   
  
Hugging the ginger tom like a security blanket, the pitiful creature poured forth his drunken woes to the Hidden Paw, unwittingly placing his own worthless head into the proverbial noose.   
  
Macavity listened with rapt delight. A child prodigy, blessed with a wild ingenuity beyond his years, he had been the leader of a small gang of troublemakers during his school years, finding nothing to hold his attention at school. At University, he had experimented with everything, from drugs to black magic, but had still come top in all of his classes despite the constant threat of expulsion from the University.   
  
Once a successful businessman, he had lost everything because no one would back him and his wild ideas. Turning to drink, he had boozed away a small fortune and had ended up sleeping rough in the streets at the tender age of thirty, with no hope in the world.   
  
Despite the fact the man was as soaked as a wineskin, Macavity knew the hopeless sot was telling the truth. He had once been in the position Macavity was in now, if only legitimately, instead of in the underworld of the feline side.   
  
Illegitimately, the man could have been one of the greatest criminal minds to ever exist, Macavity quickly realised.   
  
Perfect.   


*  


I can't help wondering about that ginger cat I saw. I didn't tell Demi. I didn't want to upset her again. She still has the nightmares about that bastard and I wouldn't want to make it worse for her. I mean, I don't even know if it was him.   
  
It was almost a week ago now…before the wedding. I still can't quite believe it. My wife is asleep beside me, her head pillowed on my chest. My wife. After I thought I was never going to be able to hold her again, we're together again and nothing can possibly separate us.   
  
Except work. Work, work, work. Can you believe we didn't even get a week off for a honeymoon or anything? Instead, what a thrill we had. Please detect a tiny note of sarcasm as I say we saw Starlight Express and I LOVED it! No, really! I did! Even if I can skate better than half the cast and fall over a lot less than they did…  
  
Demi's half-awake now. She always manages this. I pretend to be asleep, but she always knows I'm not and knows what I'm thinking. He sister must think we're crazy, bursting into Starlight Express songs at four in the morning.   
  
Okay, I admit it, maybe I can't skate, but me and her…we'd be a great pair. We'd be one of those train-coach teams that would be welded together so we couldn't separate ever. No Rustys and Pearls here.   
  
"Come on and whistle at me." She murmurs, tickling me infuriatingly. "Whistle at me, Munk."   
  
"I don't whistle," I fight the fits of laughter that her tickles always induce. "I purr! I don't whistle!"   
  
"And I don't sleep!" came the indignant yell from down the hall. Rina again. She's a great kid and I don't mind one bit that I live and work with her. Still, it's nice to argue once in a while…  
  
"You know what they say about steam trains!" I yell back, managing to pin Demi down and stop her demented tickling.   
  
"They always run out of steam before they finish their run?" Now, that was uncalled for. NOW, its war!   
  
Snatching my pillow, I push Demi off the bed and run down the hall, brandishing my deadly weapon to great effect. Needless to say, Demi joined in a few minutes later. The mother of all pillow fights at four in the morning! How's that for normal?   
  
I love this life!   


*

  
"I can't dissuade you, sir?" Nervously holding the silenced automatic level with his eye, Phipps looked awkwardly down at the tomcat in front of him.   
  
"I found the body I need." Macavity growled, glancing at the corpses of his other best agents – Genghis, Hendrix, Missy, Bast, Checkmate and Blade – and his lover – Roxie. "They've all gone ahead, so if I don't what would it say about me?"   
  
Sighing reluctantly, Phipps nodded, placing the muzzle of the gun against the ginger-furred forehead. "Get to the body as soon as you can, sir, then get back here as soon as you're able."   
  
"Yes, yes." Macavity waved a paw impatiently. "Well, will you get on with it Phipps? And make it as painless as possible…"  
  
With a reluctant nod, the tall human pulled on the trigger, driving a bullet straight into the mystery cat's brain.   


*

  
It was like falling for a long time, into a never-ending vortex, but as soon as the spinning stopped, I knew what was to be done. That creature was waiting in the alley and it was dawn. I had to get there.   
  
I can't explain, but I was floating. Like I was carried on the back of the wind…or perhaps the back of my hatred, because – within moments – I was within site of Demeter's place of work.   
  
And there he was, huddle in the alley as always, a bottle clutched in his grubby hand. He was mine now.   


*

  
Blinking in the early light of the morning, Ronan McCafferty muttered under his whisky-scented breath, his head throbbing with what promised to be the best hangover he had ever had. What a way to spend a day.   
  
Using the wall to pull himself upright, he watched the familiar figure of the young vet, Demi climbing out her husband's car, circling the vehicle to kiss him lingeringly on the lips before going into the surgery.   
  
"Lucky git." Ronan muttered, scratching his stubble-coated chin wearily. He shivered as a chill brushed over him, despite the sun shining down.   
  
"What the…?" He raised his bleary eyes in time to see a swirling black shadow descending to envelope him.   


*

  
  
Menke had just dropped me off at work when I heard the most horrifying scream from outside the surgery.   
  
Running to the front door, I spotted a figure thrashing in the alley across the road and raced over, knowing that if I didn't help, no one else would be around to do it.   
  
What I saw, I'll never forget. It was Ronan, my good friend Ronan. Shudder after shudder ran through his body, his eyes rolling back in his head, his fists and feet hitting out at some unseen enemy.   
  
Hoarse, ragged screams erupted from his mouth, his lips clearly forming he shape of the word. "No."   
  
Then, as suddenly as it had started, the seizure – or whatever it was – ceased.   
  
Dropping to my knees beside his deathly-still body, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise as a chillingly familiar voice whispered a single word in my ear.   
  
"Demeter."   
  
Shaking my head, the dizzying feeling passed and I hesitantly touched Ronan's waxen face, uncertain what to do.   
  
His hand snapped up, catching my wrist in a vice-like grip. Jumping about a foot in the air, I apprehensively watched his puffy eyes flickering open, as he inhaled a long slow breath, sitting up unsteadily.   
  
"Ronan? McCafferty?" I felt I had to make sure it really was him. Something felt… wrong. Different. Dangerous.   
  
A slight smile crept onto his lips. An almost Jack-Nicholson-esque smile. Chilling. And his eyes. There was something different there too…or maybe I was just imagining things again.   
  
"I'm all right." He murmured huskily, pressing one hand to his forehead with a groan. "But I swear I'll never drink again."   
  
I almost laughed with relief. I'd never seen him suffering the wrath of alcohol, which explained a lot of what had just happened. It also suggested that's why he seemed so…well…different today.   
  
"C'mon." I held out a hand, helping him shakily to his feet. "Let's get you cleaned up and find something to help with that head of yours."   
  


*

  
Blinking the water out of his eyes, he glanced down at his naked body with an approving smile. He had found this body quickly, but he couldn't have chosen better if he'd spent a lifetime searching.   
  
Tossing his head back, he let the hot water stream down his face, running his fingers through his tangled, filthy mane.   
  
All he had to do now, he mused, lathering up the soap and liberally soaping all over his surprisingly-muscular body, was to get himself to the top of the ladder again. To manipulate everything to raise himself above the level of street-scum, which he knew – with his abilities and wild imagination, combined with this Ronan's – wouldn't be too hard at all.   
  
Stretching his arms above his head, he lazily rinsed himself down, flicked off the shower and stepped out onto the spongy mat on the floor. Loosely wrapping a towel around his waist, he chuckled. Such instinctive little quirks surprised him.   
  
He flexed his hand, smearing the condensation that obscured the glassy surface of the mirror and squinted at the blurred image.   
  
"Not too bad." He murmured, scrutinising his new features clinically and carefully. "A bit of a mess at the moment, but plenty of potential…" Nodding, a cool smile on his lips, he repeated. "Plenty of potential."   
  
Glancing around, he spotted the pile of clothes Demeter had borrowed from one of her co-workers for him and he smiled again. He would get her, like he got her before, but this time, she wouldn't be able to resist. This time, he would win.   
  
Towelling his rather impressive human body down, he slipped into the slightly large trousers and casually walked out of the small changing rooms, pulling the loose shirt on over his head.   
  
"Feeling better?" Demi called from the store cupboard, halfway down the hall.   
  
"Much, thanks." Rounding the door, he leaned against the frame to see her with her back to him, bent over a small unit, her neat little derriere wagging back and forth in the air. Looking down, Macavity noticed a slightly open drawer. Inside lay an array of scalpels, needles and other dangerous-looking tools. He raised his eyes back to the delightful view in front of him.   
  
Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at him and a shiver ran through his body. She was so exceptionally beautiful for a human. Almost made him forget his purpose. The blades were within easy reach. All he had to do was grab one and…  
  
She swivelled, bending to put a pack of swabs on a lower shelf in front of him. He felt like his heart was about to burst through his rib cage, as he took in this new sight. Not particularly low, her blouse revealed more female human flesh than he had ever seen…and how intriguing it looked too. But the knives were still waiting. He stretched out one trembling hand…  
  
"Fancy a coffee?" She rose to face him, dusting her hands down on her skin-tight jeans.   
  
"If you're making one." What the hell…? Macavity cursed his stupidity. He just HAD to choose the body of the fool that was in love with her. A body that wouldn't want to hurt her. Damn!   
  
It looked like he would have to make the body more his own before he could even think of revenge. But he was patient. Following Demi through he building, he smiled chillingly to himself. He could wait.   
  
He would have his revenge. Of that, there was no doubt.   
  
  
  



	3. Together Again - Part 3

"Breakfast in bed, love

"Breakfast in bed, love?" Menke leaned up on his elbow to look down at his beautiful wife, who lay sleepily on her side, one arm curled under her head. Her black and gold mane spread around her like a fan, as she rolled onto her back and stretched.   
  
"Yes please." Yawning, she arched her back, rubbing her face sleepily.  
  
"Well go and get it then!" Grinning, he snagged the duvet and hauled it around himself tightly, so only his bright green eyes could be seen, twinkling mischievously.  
  
"Lazy lump!" She moaned, curling into a ball with another yawn.   
  
Laughing, he unfurled the duvet and pulled her into his arms. "You're one to talk!" kissing her, his hands wandered down her body and started tickling her, a loud shriek and her thrashing arms and legs suggesting a quiet protestation at this.  
  
"Stoppit! She squealed, laughing with relief as she was pinned down and the duvet was pulled over both of them.  
  
Gazing down at her, he smiled, kissing the tip of her nose. "You know, Mrs Strep," He remarked in a somewhat conversational tone. "I believe I love you."  
  
"I am delighted to say," She replied impishly in the same tone. "I reciprocate." Swatting him playfully across the head. "But right now, I want my brekkus!"  
  
"What would Tugger say if he saw this?" Menke groaned, sliding out from under the covers and standing up, stretching every inch of his six foot, four inch of his boxer-short-clad, superbly toned body.  
  
"See what?" Demi teased. "You in Calvin Kleins?"  
  
Striking a pose, he grinned. "The great Munkustrap." He intoned gravely. "Boxer-short wearer and Brekkus-in-bed maker extraordinaire!" Cracking up, he shook his tousled head. "I would never have believed it."  
  
"At the speed you're moving, neither will be true soon."  
  
Raising a devilish eyebrow, he smirked. "Oh really? Is that prophesy or promise, dear?"  
  
"If you wanna keep those shorts on, you better move now." She threatened.  
  
Standing stock still, Menke eyed her. "Look," He pointed to his feet. "I'm not moving…and the shorts are still on…"  
  
A rattle from the front door made them both grin, as they yelled in unison. "I'll get it!"   
  
Leaping off the bed, Demi hurtled passed Menke in a blur, yanking his shorts down as she went, with the triumphant shout of. "They're off now!"  
  
"No fair!" He howled, hauling them up hastily and running after her as she flew down the spiral staircase.  
  
"Alls fair in love and war and getting to the letter box first!" She crowed back triumphantly, tearing down the stairs.   
  
"Guess again!" Menke whooped as he whizzed down the banister passed her, shooting off the bottom and landing in a heap at the door, snatching the bundle of mail up triumphantly. "I won!"  
  
"You cheat!" She pouted as he stood up, flicking through the pile, watching her out of the corner of his eye. "Thou art a cheat of epic proportions!"  
  
"And I have something that might interest you here…" He waved a black envelope above her head. "McCafferty Enterprises."  
  
"Ronan?" Leaping up, she snagged the letter. "I haven't seen him in about six months …since about a week after our wedding." Tearing open the envelope, her eyes skimmed the words and gave a delighted laugh. "He did it!"  
  
"Did what?" Menke drifted towards the kitchen, reading one of his own letters.  
  
"Got himself sorted out!" Demi followed him, reading the three-page letter as she walked. "He's not living in the streets anymore. He invited us to a party at…" She traced her finger along the line. "The Carlton Palace, to celebrate his…oh my gosh…"  
  
"His?" Prompted her husband, switching on the kettle as he glanced over at her.  
  
"First ten million!" She gasped, one hand to her mouth in a gallic gesture of surprise and astonishment. "Last time I saw him, he didn't have a penny to his name!"  
  
"Sounds like a…useful chap to know." Menke grinned as she slipped her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his muscled back, as he poured a cup of coffee with her. "So, when'' this party? I want to see who this financial genius is."  
  
"May the 11th. Next week."  
  
"Typical!" He groaned, handing her the mug. "I can't make it. I want to be in the anniversary cast this year."  
  
"That's okay." Kissing him fondly on the cheek, she smiled. "I'll go along. I want to see what he's been getting up to. I'm sure you'll have fun at work."  
  
"As if you'll enjoy the party without me there!" He laughed, drawing her into his arms. "Givus a kiss, sweetheart!"   
  
"Not until you shave, hairy." She blinked innocently up at him.  
  
With a huff of indignation, he shook his head. "You never used to complain about my facial fuzz, darlin'."  
  
"And you didn't complain that I never shaved my legs, furball." She retorted, grinning over the rim of her coffee cup.  
  
"I…er…" Picking his brains for a witty answer, he gave her a helpless look as she raised an expectant golden eyebrow. "What can I say?" He grinned sheepishly. "I'm a guy."   
  
"And that's why I love you." She purred. "I'm going back to bed…care to join me?"  
  
As she started up the stairs, she glanced back over her shoulder, a naughty smirk on her lips. Shaking his head, a grin of disbelief spreading from ear to ear, Menke punched the air with delight and a yell of "Ai Chihuahua!" before sprinting after her.   


*

  
  
"Well, Phipps," Raising his eyes to his most loyal agent, the man who had once been Ronan McCafferty, curled his sensual lips in a smile. "Have we had word from my little …friend yet?"  
  
Nodding soundlessly at his leader's words, Phipps flipped on the monitor of the close-circuit camera with the remote, the image of Demi's arrival flashing up on the massive screen. Leaning back in his chair, McCafferty propped his feet on the massive oak desk, steepling his fingers thoughtfully.  
  
In what had been the throne room of the Lair, the underhand dealings – that had gained McCafferty the success and wealth he required – were masterminded. Only he and his agents knew of this particular…place.   
  
Having purchased the adjacent property legally, he had 'acquired' the lair under an alternate name, so if any criminal activities were linked to that place, he could feign innocence. Not – it was clear – that he planned to get caught. He had never been caught before and didn't intend to start now.  
  
"Have the car brought around." He murmured softly, rising to his feet. "I think its time I paid my party a visit."  
  


*

  
  
Smoothing a stray lock of hair back from her lover's face, Roxie straddled McCafferty's thighs with her own, her blue eyes half-closed as he teased her with his expert hands.  
  
Always a good lover, he had improved so much in his new form. There were so many things these bodies could do that felines couldn't, which Roxie had realised the moment she bonded with the body he had chosen for her.  
  
In the evenings, when he had no need for her, she would walk the streets, waiting for her paying lovers to arrive, to take her away and couple with her, giving her a large wad of cash and plenty of information that she relayed religiously onto her favourite lover.  
  
Even so, he rarely coupled with her anymore, letting her other mates satisfy her needs, while he used and manipulated the information she received for him. Still, he would always hold a special place in her heart and the nights that they did come together were the most exhausting she could remember.  
  
"Time for you to go to work, angelface." He trailed one finger over her full lips, smiling as she teasingly nipped the tip. "Remember, I'm relying on you to find the weaknesses of these men."  
  
"I know." Planting a firm kiss on his lips, she felt his hand glide sensuously up her back, slowly drawing her away, as the car rolled to a halt. "Try not to enjoy yourself too much, lover."  
  
"You know me too well, sweetheart." As she arose elegantly out of the car, his eyes traced the curve of her rear, temptingly clad in an ominously tight and short leather skirt, her silky stockings accentuated by her high heels and long, lithe legs.  
  
Leaning in the window, she straightened his tie fondly, her slightly slanted blue eyes twinkling. She was beautiful. He had to admit he had chosen well. Such an outrageously sexy body was only suitable for a woman such as her.  
  
Stepping away from the car, she walked away, her wonderfully sexy strut a fascinating and captivating spectacle as she tossed her golden mane back over her shoulder, her barely concealed bosom swelling promisingly.   


*

  
  
Feeling insanely out of place, Demi gazed around at the groups of wealthy businessmen and women. They all looked expensively-dressed and disdainful of the pretty young vet. Sighing, Demi self-consciously rubbed her slim hands down her dress: The same black and gold silk sheath she had worn to meet Menke that first night.  
  
To be totally honest with herself, she had to admit she was the cheapest-dressed person there. Obviously the company was very prestigious, but Demi would never have pictured Ronan mingling with such types.  
  
Her eyes wandered over the faces, settling on the massive mahogany doors that were creaking slowly open and she – like any other red-blooded person in the room – audibly gasped as the newcomer confidently stepped into the room.  
  
The lust and envy crackled in the air, as the man's sensual lips curled into a smile, nodding greetings to the observers. Demi stumbled back a pace, leaning heavily on the table behind her, one hand clutched to her breast, trying to still her thundering heart.  


*

  
  
Good golly gosh! It should be illegal for someone to have that effect on anyone! I don't know what the hell he did, but…phew…if I ever saw an image of walking, talking sex appeal, its him.  
  
Such an overwhelming presence. You'd think he'd get paranoid with everyone staring at him, positively salivating over him, but no. He just stands their, dripping magnetism. Pure and unadulterated sexual magnetism. And, boy! Does he know how to use it!  
  
Even standing still, he's like on of those Greek gods, simply there to be worshipped! I don't know what's come over me! I mean, I adore Menke. He means the world to me, but this guy – he has looks, appeal, attitude…and I'm married for heaven's sake! But those eyes…such piercingly clear eyes…that firm jaw…those lips….such wildly sensual and kissable lips…   
  
Oh man! No! Don't look over here! Not at me! There's only a wall of hair here…can't see me! Don't come over! No! Please?  
  
"Demi?" Whatta voice! It barely struck me that he knew my name. I was too busy floating away on the silky huskiness of the rich Irish accent.  
  
"Um…have we met?" I managed to ask faintly as I wondered where my legs had gone too. I tell ya, one minute they were there, the next it felt like they melted to nothing.  
  
"I'd hope so." He laughed gently, sending another ripple of delight through me. Running a hand down his sleeked-back copper mane that was pulled into a ponytail, hanging neatly between his shoulder blades, he tweaked at his neat beard, remarking. "I did manage to have a haircut since you last saw me…and I'm not wearing your friend's clothes now."  
  
"R…Ronan?" That's it. I'm dead. I'm gonna pass out. The impossible has happened.  
  
"You seem a little surprised to see me…you're not…disappointed are you?" Even his worried expression hit me like a punch to the stomach. He looked so much taller, sleeker …sexier than I remembered him being.  
  
Realising he had asked me a question, I hastily backtracked to his words and stumbled over my own in an effort to reassure him. "No…no! You…you look great! Y…er… you've changed a lot."  
  
Boy, did I feel 100% stupid, going gaga over a guy I've known for years, especially when I'm married! And happily married at that!  
  
I'm assuming that I've changed is indeed a good thing." He gave me another reduce-legs-to-jelly smile, his intense green eyes shining. I just nodded weakly. "Lets get ye a drink."  
  
"I think I might need one." I muttered under my breath.  


*

  
  
Spending an evening in the company of Ronan McCafferty, Demi felt like she was a Queen for the night.  
  
As he swept her out onto the dance-floor, she could hear the jealous comments from the other women, pointing out the gold band on her finger, complaining that they were more worthy than some slip of a girl.  
  
If only they knew the full story. McCafferty pulled Demi closer, dancing in a style reminiscent of the Tango with a surprising dexterity.  
  
"I didn't know you could dance." She breathed, her face resting against his chest, his heart thumping lightly in time with the music in her ear.  
  
Tracing his fingers lightly across her bare back, barely acknowledging her shiver, he murmured. "There's a lot more about me that you don't know, Dem…so much I could show you."  
  
Her eyes sank closed, as they swayed to the lilting music and she found herself wondering what it would be like to feel Ronan's body against hers in an even more intimate situation.  
  
Feeling her arms around his neck, he let one hand slip down, brushing promisingly across her smooth derriere, as he tilted her face up to his. Brushing his cheek against hers, his lips stroked tentatively over her own and she gave a contented sigh.  
  
Lowering his lips to hers, he mentally smiled as she responded, her body arching against his for a few brief seconds, before her eyes snapped open and she pulled away, shaking her head, her face flushed and flustered.  
  
"I'm sorry." She gasped, turning and running across the dance-floor, one hand pressed to her face.  
  
Following her, he caught up with her at the reception, grabbing her by the arm. "Demi, that was my fault, I'm sorry…I think we both had too much to drink…"  
  
"Yes…yes…" She agreed readily, her face scarlet. "Too much too drink…I'm sorry…I have to go…I can't stay." Staring up at him, she shook her head. "Please understand, its not your fault."  
  
"I understand," Running his fingers gently though her hair, he gave her a sad smile that wrenched her heart. Slipping his evening jacket off, he draped it around her bare shoulders. "I'll call a cab for you."  
  
Sinking into the plush velvet seat beside the reception desk, Demi cast him a weak smile, pulling the jacket around her. "Thank you, Ronan." She managed to whisper through taut lips.  


*

  
  
Something happened to Demi at that party tonight. She won't talk about it, but I can see she's upset about something.  
  
I got in from work with Rina and she was sitting on the sofa, a cold mug of coffee clenched in her hands, still in her fancy clothes. I've never seen her acting like that before. As soon as I shut the door, she got up and walked upstairs and by the time I went to bed, the pillow was wet with her tears.  
  
"Menke." She whispered softly, not even turning to face me. "I don't deserve you. I really don't."  
  
That worries me. Does it mean she's having an affair? Does it mean she wants to split up? I shouldn't get paranoid like this, but when both Macavity and Alonzo tried to steal her from me before, it tends to make me wary.  
  
So, I did the only thing I could. I took her in my arms and reminded her that I died for her, that I live for her and that if anything happened, I don't know what I'd do without her, but it only seemed to make her worse. Maybe I sounded too sappy. I do have a tendency to go over the top.  
  
She turned over and buried her face in my chest and I could smell the scent of wine on her lips as she whispered. "I'm sorry…I almost did it…he wanted me to go with him…" That's all she said before falling asleep against my chest, her breathing even.  
  
The fatal words. Only softened by the single word – 'almost'. That means she was faithful to me, but there was only one person before that 'almost' made her leave…and that person eventually just took her anyway, despite the fact she was mine. Macavity.  
  
It seems there are Macavity's in both the feline and human world. It's not very reassuring, but at least we know what we are up against. She's mine and I'll do what I must to protect her, be it from psycho cats or drunken slobs. Whose to know.  
  
And yes, I am an overprotective, soppy, massive, great, big ex-tomcat. And I'm glad! Glad I tell ya! What can I say? Old habits die hard!   


*

  
  
"Sir? Are you awake?" Phipps peered around the door, spotting the empty double bed. Edging into the room, he heard the rush of water in the shower and cleared his throat, starting towards the door.  
  
A voice halted him in his tracks. "Phipps? Is that you?"  
  
Phipps felt a thousand butterflies explode to life in his stomach, wishing that he hadn't agreed to remain working for McCafferty enterprises for the hundredth time that day, his hands shaking around the folder he was carrying.  
  
"Yes sir." He turned to see the en suite shower door slide open, as Ronan stepped out, his long, damp hair loose about his muscular shoulder, his body clad in a damp towel that concealed very little of him.  
  
Walking across the room with the controlled grace of a big cat, he gave Phipps a lazy, yet dangerous smile. Stepping passed the older man, he slowly pushed the door shut, turning the heavy key in the lock.  
  
His back against the door, his green eyes glittered wickedly as he gazed at Phipps. "Just to make certain we aren't disturbed." He purred silkily, running one hand down his solid, moisture-coated chest.  
  
Gesturing for his compatriot to sit down at the large seat at the desk, he pretended not to notice the beads of sweat breaking out on Phipps' forehead, as he sat down on the edge of the massive mahogany structure, the towel riding up his dripping thighs.  
  
"What news do you have for me?" Never taking his eyes away from the nervous businessman, McCafferty inclined his head with a wicked smile. "All good I hope…you would want a bonus, don't you?"  
  
"Its all the best news, sir." With trembling, sweating hands, Phipps handed his master the folder, swallowing hard. "All your legitimate businesses are bringing in at least fifty per cent profits and the…others are doing equally well."  
  
"That's very good news." McCafferty nodded absently.  
  
Standing up, he loosened the towel around his waist, slowly starting to towel himself down under Phipps incredulous gaze.   
  
Moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue, the businessman cleared his throat, running his finger nervously along the inside of his collar as he stared at the muscles in Ronan's back rippling lightly.  
  
"Sir…perhaps I should go?" He suggested, shifting his folder so it lay across his lap. He was having enough trouble breathing, let alone talking.  
  
"Don't be ridiculous, Phipps." His deep, rich laugh made Phipps shiver with delight, as he dropped the towel and pulled on a loose robe, turning to face his companion. "I want to talk to you a while."  
  
Swivelling the chair around, he leaned down, his hands on the arms of the chair, his silky hair still loose. His face barely inches from Phipps', he tilted his head curiously with a shy smile. "You're not afraid of me, are you, my friend?"  
  
Swallowing hard, Phipps shook his head vehemently, his eyes wandering down his master's body as the robe fell open. "No, sir." He mumbled, taking all of his strength to stifle a moan of desire.  
  
"And you've always been faithful to me, haven't you, Phipps?" Struck by the obvious double-entendre, Phipps nodded weakly. How could he ever betray this man. A man he feared and adored more with each day.  
  
Tilting the older man's face up to his, McCaffety's smile sent thrills racing down Phipps' spine. The smile seemed to suggest that if anything further happened, it was bound to be good. Very good.  
  
His hand still gently cupping his friend and agent's face, Ronan's thumb gently stroked Phipps' cheek, his eyes dark, shadowed.  
  
"I told you that you would get a bonus, didn't I?" He murmured, his voice a husky whisper. "Name it. You can have anything…"  
  
Sweat was pouring down his face as he stumbled to his feet, pushing his way past McCafferty. "I have to go, sir." He gasped, his breath escaping in ragged pants. "I have to go so…" He fumbled with the key in the lock.  
  
"Oh, Phipps." Ronan sighed sadly, his expression full of disappointment. "You are scared of me, aren't you?"  
  
Reluctantly turning around, the expression on his master's face made his heart break. NO! The bastard's a master of twisting emotions! Walk away. Get out! Leave him and forget about it. It'll never happen.  
  
He turned back to the door, trying to twist the key, but it wouldn't move. A hand fell on his shoulder and he whirled around to come face to face with Ronan.  
  
"Phipps, darlin', whats the hurry?" One hand against the door, his body trapping Phipps' between him and the panel of wood, McCafferty easily pulled the key out, tossing it casually over his shoulder. "We aren't goin' to be disturbed and yet, ye want to run away from me."   
  
"Please, sir." McCafferty's hand ran down his cheek, slipping to his tie.  
  
"Come now, darlin'." Sliding his hand under his companion's shirt, Ronan gave him one of his dazzling smiles. "You've wanted this for a long time…and what better bonus for me prize agent?"   
  
Pressing his lips urgently to Phipps', he felt the sophisticated businessman throw off all his qualms, responding hungrily. So much for being a reluctant party, McCafferty thought, with a mental grin. This was one way to secure his agent's loyalty and damn! It was fun too!  
  
"Do you love me, Phipps?"  
  
Nodding weakly, breathless from the kiss, Phipps mumbled. "Yes, sir."  
  
Discarding the worthless shirt, he pushed the sweat-soaked dark hair back from his face and softly asked. "Will you always be loyal to me, Phipps."  
  
"Always, sir."   
  
Smiling, he nodded. "That's my boy." He murmured huskily. "That's my boy."  
  


*

  
  
Sitting on the wide window-ledge, I watched Phipps leaving this morning. I had suspected Macavity – that is McCafferty – would be as depraved in human form as he had been in feline. What I saw confirmed my suspicions.  
  
I got back late, cos I found another of the boss' old agents – Genghis. He is the leader of the immigrant underground, which doesn't surprise me, but he still wants to work with McCafferty.  
  
I didn't know how to react to seeing Phipps in the bed that Ronan and I still sometimes shared. I should have been jealous and angry, but no. Ronan knows what he's doing. And Phipps is weak.  
  
Instead, I took Genghis to my rooms on the top floor, overlooking the city and gave him a free session. If Macavity can have fun with anyone, why can't I?  
  
Barely minutes after Phipps exited the building, I heard the familiar sound of the boss' footfalls on the stairs. Manipulation and cruelty always did turn him on…but I knew him finding a stranger in my bed wouldn't exactly do me a lot of good.  
  
And I was right. He gave Genghis a battering, letting him know who was boss I suppose, leaving the poor sod bleeding and half-conscious. But if I thought that was bad, I didn't know what was in store for me.  
  
I had never even imagined anyone having such brutal, inhuman strength. For the first time, I knew what Demeter had gone through And for the first time, seeing at the hatred and rage burning in Macavity's eyes, I knew I was staring death in the face.  
  
And I didn't like it one little bit.  


*

  
  
After Roxie's body was lugged away to be tossed into the river, McCafferty silently walked through his palatial home, waiting for his guest to arrive.  
  
Several days had passed since the party and obviously Demi felt confident that she wasn't weakened by the influence of drink. Confident enough to believe she could resist him again.  
  
He heard to voice of Andy Hendrix yelling from the bottom of the stairs that she had arrived and allowed himself another chilling smile.  
  
Walking slowly down the curved staircase, he felt his heart leap as he saw her standing there. Something in this pathetic body of his just could not resist her, even when she looked as scruffy as she did now.  
  
Clad in jeans and a baggy denim shirt, her hair hung in wild waves around her shoulder, falling almost to her waist. A bright smile that seemed to illuminate the room lit up her stunning features, her golden eyes crinkling as she ran forward and kissed him fondly on both cheeks, sending fireworks exploding in his head again.  
  
"Nice to see you again, Demi, darlin'." He held her hands in his, gazing down at her longingly. "You look stunnin'."  
  
A pretty blush suffused her cheeks and she lowered her head with a giggle. "You flatter me, Ronan." She managed to reply. "You look pretty good yourself."  
  
"Why thank you, milady." Sweeping into a mock bow, he raised her hand to his lips, barely brushing the smooth skin. His chest seemed to feel unnaturally tight and he forced another smile. "Can I get you something to drink?"  
  
"Sounds good to me." She smiled, shyly slipping her arm around his waist. "Lead on McDuff."  
  


*

  
  
Why, oh why did I come? Am I insane? Do I wanting to betray Menke? I don't understand why I can't stay away from Ronan. He was a friend and now…now I keep wondering what it would be like if he were more than that.  
  
Even if I try and tell myself to leave, I can't resist looking at him. And each time I look at him, he gives me that smile that paralyses me in my tracks. Either way, I'm trapped here, with a man I want more than I can ever remember wanting anyone else.  
  
Like me, he's dressed casually today and he chats lightly to me, seemingly unaware of the discomfort I feel at every glance and touch.   
  
The way he sits…the way his jeans fit…the way that long copper mane of his hangs perfectly around those amazing cheekbones…those green eyes that seem to see everything and nothing…everything about him is irresistible.   
  
I can't even think of an argument anymore. I want him.  


*

  
  
Sipping the coffee, she looks so delicate. So beautiful. I thought I could deal with these feeling…these 'emotions' she stirs in this body. He really loved her…and I can see why. I love her in a way I don't and can never understand…plus I want to take her right now.  
  
We're alone. I made sure of that. We couldn't be disturbed, even if a bomb went off outside the door, it wouldn't affect us.  
  
"Ow!" Her coffee cup smashed to the floor, both her slim white hands clutched to her beautiful golden eyes. "Somethings gone in my eye!" Wincing, she pressed her slender fingertips against her eyelids. "Ow! Ow!"  
  
"Demi?" Gently, I take her face in my hands. She tenses, but I know. She's attracted to this body. Geez, even a blind man could see that! All I have to do is…persuade her that its right to give in to these feelings.  
  
Staring into those dazzling, golden eyes, I want to pin her and take her like I did so long ago. I want her. All of her. Curse this body!  
  
One of her fingers moves lightly across the back of my hand, her eyes staring deep into mine, trusting me…no. Trusting the Ronan that she once knew. Not me. Not me at all. She doesn't know.  
  
It's my body now. I'll do what I want.   


*

  
  
Insistent firm lips come down on mine, a strong masculine flavour flooding my mouth, the scent and feel overwhelming my senses. It's so powerful. So deliciously dominant and tempting, I sink back and let it take over me.  
  
Strong arms force me down, on my back…but something about that triggered a distant memory in me. A memory of a monster.  
  
Opening my eyes, I see Ronan staring at me with an intensity that terrifies me. The monster is there. In his dark, savage eyes.  
  
Jerking away, I stumble to my feet, backing towards the door, a sick feeling clawing at the pit of my stomach as I feel solid wood brush against my back, my hand groping for the handle as he lazily turns those brutal eyes towards me.  
  
Glancing back at the door, he's suddenly in front of me, one of his strong hands slamming both of mine against the wood above my head, his lips attacking mine again. I scream, but no one hears.  
  
"So you figured it out, did you, Demeter?" His voice has changed to something that I remember and wish I didn't. The full length of his massive muscular body presses against mine, as he tilts my head back, his hand twisted in my hair.  
  
"Why?" I don't know why I asked, because I already knew the answer, but anything to buy a little time.   
  
He smiled coolly as I struggle desperately. "You know there's no escape from me, Demeter." He runs his tongue up my ear, the combined shiver of pleasure and horror sickening me.  
  
"NO!"   
  
He draws back, that chilling smile still etched on his lips. "No?" Tutting, he wags a finger at me reprovingly, that flicker of danger glowing in his eyes. "Don't you remember what happened the last time you said no?"  
  
The world gathers in around me suffocatingly and I know that I have to get out of here if I ever want to see the light of day again. By any means necessary.   


*

  
  
That bitch! That vicious little bitch! I've never felt pain like it before! Even when I fought the Jellicles! Hell! Now I know why human men are so protective of that part of their anatomy! I don't think I'll walk for a month! How can one girl's knee be so damn hard?  
  
I manage to stumble to the window, out of which she leapt what seems like minutes ago. It can only really be a few seconds since she attacked me, though, because I can see her running out into the street, desperately flagging down a cab.  
  
She thinks she safe away from me. She thinks her precious Munkustrap can protect her. Like the old days.  
  
Well, if she wants to do things the old-fashioned way, two can play at that game. She'll regret crossing Macavity. She'll pay.  


*

  
  
Carefully opening the door, Menke crept in quietly, hoping he wouldn't disturb Demi. He was later than usual and assumed she was in bed when something hurtled passed his head, smashing against the wall behind him, a familiar voice screaming. "Who is it? Who's there?"  
  
Flicking on the light, he stared at the source of the voice, then looked down at the shattered vase on the floor.  
  
"Dem? What's going on?"  
  
Throwing herself into his arms, she buried her face in the reassuringly strong muscles of his chest and sobbed softly. "He came back, Menke…he's come for me again…he'll never let me go…never…"  
  
Gently lifting her in his arms, he carried her up the stairs to their room, laying her gently on the bed, his penetrating eyes meeting hers. "Who has come back, Dem?" He asked softly, as she clutched at his hands desperately, her eyes wide with fear.  
  
"Macavity." She whimpered, her face a mask of terror. "He's alive and he's coming to get me…he tried to get me today…I ran…I ran as fast as I could…"  
  
"That's impossible, Dem." Menke shook his head, trailing a long strand of her sweat-soaked her through his gentle fingers.   
  
"Is it?" She whispered, blinking back another rush of tears. "We're here and we both died…why would it be impossible, Menke?"  
  
Menke sighed. Ever since he had told her who he was and she had remembered the past, she had been haunted by the nightmares of the ginger tom.  
  
"I saw him, Menke." She mumbled, sinking back against the pillows wearily. "You might not believe me, but I saw him…"  
  
"I know, love, I know." He nodded, wishing he could wipe all of the memories and nightmares of her last life that haunted her. Kissing her pale cheek gently, he untangled his fingers from hers as he stood up, tenderly pulling the light sheet over her body. As long as she lived, she would be stalked by her memories.  
  
Rolling onto her side, her dark lashes a sooty smudge on her cheek, she gave a half-sigh, half-yawn in her sleep.   
  
Menke traced one hand lightly down the contours of her lovely body, wondering how soon she would wake – screaming – in the grip of some nightmare as she had, so many nights before.  
  
"I'll take care of you, beautiful." He vowed softly, gazing down at her. "I promise."  
  
  



	4. Together Again - Part 4

Signing the card, Ronan sat back and sighed

Signing the card, Ronan sat back and sighed. Surely she wasn't stupid. If she believed anything he said, he was going to be very surprised. Waving his hand, the bunch of flowers was carried out of the room – for delivery to his unfortunate little Demeter – as the intercom chimed. "What is it?" He barked.   
  
"Doctor Belinda Ast to see you, sir." His secretary responded, as calm and pleasant as ever. He could hear the quiet tap-tap-tap of her fingers on the computer keyboard and nodded.   
  
"Send her in." He quieted his voice. Belinda Ast – another of his prime agents, formerly known simply as Bast – had gotten in contact with him a short time before and he was curious to see what kind of form she had taken on.  
  
She had been a pretty feline – not unlike that dratted Jellicle Cassandra…her half-sister, he believed – and he had found her charming, witty and exceptionally intelligent…for a female feline. And now, she was a renowned doctor of some standing in the medical profession and yet, she had still sought him out.   
  
Pushing his chair back into the shadows, he watched in interest as the door opened and Dr Ast stepped into the room, one graceful hand on her narrow hips.   
  
She wasn't what he would call beautiful, but she had style and plenty of it. Clad in a two piece blue suit, her shining black hair was pinned up neatly, accentuating her high cheekbones and slightly slanted brown eyes. Peering owlishly out from behind her glasses, she smiled pleasantly at him.  
  
"Macavity…cautious as ever, I see." She murmured, her voice low and smooth, her accent speaking measures of her expensive education and upbringing.  
  
"Bast, my dear." Rising, he held out a hand to her, shaking her slim hand firmly. "How intellectual you look. How have you been finding your new form?"  
  
Sitting down in the seat opposite him, she shrugged elegantly. "I can't complain." She laid her folder on her knee. "Although, I did happen to choose the body of a married woman, which is a bit of a disappointment. My husband is a bit old-fashioned. Very formal and traditional and very, very English. Stiff upper lip, but not much else, if you get my meaning."   
  
"Well, we can't all pick well." He laughed richly. "You do know why I wanted to see you, do you not?"  
  
Nodding, the deceptively delicate-looking oriental woman smiled. "I do remember why we all ended up in these unusual forms, you know, sir."  
  
"Very good." Smirking chillingly, he stood up. "Come with me, my dear. I have a special lab arranged for you."  
  
"Why thank you." She rose, reaching his shoulders, slipping her arm into his. "Working with you again will no doubt be fruitful, Macavity."  
  
Gazing down at the delightful young doctor, McCafferty fought back a wicked grin, a mental image of her in his chambers – naked – rising before his eyes. "I'm sure it will, darlin'." He replied silkily, lifting one of her smooth hands and kissing it lightly. "I'm sure it will."  
  


*

  
  
Sitting on the floor between Menke's knees, Demi leaned back against his stomach, his fingers easily twisting her long hair into braids, his hands sliding down and gently rubbing her tense neck.  
  
"Why so tense?" He nuzzled her ear, his head rubbing fondly against hers. His breath was warm on her skin and she shivered. "Is anything wrong, sweetheart?"  
  
Sighing, she squeezed his knees, her eyes half-closed. "I really dunno." She replied quietly, glancing up at the bunch of flowers that protruded from the bin out of the corner of her eye. "I think I'm just a bit tired, love."  
  
"How tired?" His voice was barely a breath in her ear and she giggled weakly, turning her face to his.  
  
"Not that tired, lover." She brushed her lips against his lightly, her eyes meeting his. "You don't have anything planned tomorrow, do you, Munk?"  
  
Drawing her up into his arms, he kissed her deeply, purring against her lips. "What do you have in mind?" He spoke against her giggling lips.  
  
"Well…" Pausing, she clambered up into his lap, her arms around her neck, she traced her fingers down his smooth-shaven cheeks, her eyes locked with his. "I was thinking about going to bed early…" Pausing, she shrugged. "Perhaps get a decent nights sleep."  
  
"And you seem to be determined to disappoint me." He jutted out his lower jaw, pouting in annoyance. "Why can't you be a nice, obedient, quiet, sex-mad girl that always does as I ask?"  
  
"You mean instead of a hyperactive, crazy, noisy, perpetually horny lunatic who always does anything you ask, but only if you get down on your knees and beg for it?"  
  
"That's pretty much it." He agreed pleasantly, biting lightly on the tip of one of her fingers. "You're a meanie, that's what you are."   
  
"Ain't I a bitch?" One golden eyebrow rose a fraction, her fingers journeyed down his neck to his loose shirt, slowly undoing the buttons, her eyes never leaving his. "And you love every minute, don't ya?"  
  
"If you say so." Menke looped his arms around her waist, his gentle fingers teasingly pushing up the back of her shirt and tracing circles lightly on the bare skin at the base of her back.  
  
His shirt dropped open as she arched her back against his aggravating hands with a desperate giggle. "Stop that!" She yelped, swatting at him, trying – unsuccessfully – to wriggle free from his grip.  
  
"See." He squeezed her tighter, grinning triumphantly. "I can be just as annoying as you can! Ha!"  
  
Glaring at him, she tried to stifle a giggle as she jerked out of his arms and flounced towards the stairs. "I don't care what you're going to do." She pouted back over her shoulder. "I'm going to bed. I WANT an early night."  
  
Watching her make her way up the stairs, the way her hips enticingly rolled beckoned him and he grinned broadly and leapt to his feet, tossing his shirt on the floor in a heap, racing after her. "Wait for me, love! I want an early night too!"   
  
"Why am I not surprised?" Waiting for him at the bedroom door, she shrieked as he swung her up in his strong arms and kissed her.  
  
"Cos ye know me too well, lover." He replied throatily, nuzzling her cheek teasingly, kicking the door shut behind him.  


*

  
  
Opening the door of the lab, Belinda allowed only Ronan to enter, leaving the rest of the agents impatiently waiting in the chilly corridor outside. This operation was strictly between only the master criminal and this doctor – his prime agent.  
  
The lights were bright, the surfaces reflecting every one of the illuminations, dazzling. Hi-tech gadgetry was dominant, sparking, humming and glowing all around the large, underground chamber.  
  
But McCafferty didn't care about the light or the technological wizardry. What he wanted to see was far more important and it sat – awaiting his inspection – on the smooth white work surface, looking a good deal smaller than he had expected.  
  
"As you can see, we managed to make it look relatively small and harmless in appearance for delivery…" Placing her folder on the desk, she gestured at a slightly larger, sheet-covered heap. "That one will be easy enough to place, if you can successfully reach the vehicle."   
  
"If I can reach the vehicle?" He echoed sceptically. "Do you doubt me, darlin'?"  
  
"Of course not, sir." Lowering her face, her cheeks flushed. "I just meant…well…I'm sorry, sir. I assumed you would get someone else to do it…"  
  
"Belinda, my darlin' darlin' girl…" He tilted her face up with one hand, his thumb smoothing her cheek. "You shouldn't doubt me, ye know. I'm very, very good with my hands, I guarantee."  
  
"Yes sir…" Unable to meet his penetrating gaze, she tried to smile weakly, as one of his hands, traced up the back of her neck lightly, loosening the clip that held her ebony hair in place.  
  
"You should leave your hair down." He remarked, running his finger through her silky-smooth, waist-length locks. "It makes you look so pretty, Belinda."  
  
Yes…well…" Pulling away from him, she turned her attention back to the device on the work surface, shivering as his hands came to rest on her hips. "Of course…it's deadly…powerful…and very…very complex…" As his lips touched her neck, she wondered if she was actually talking about the device or the man who stood behind her.  
  
As if he was reading her mind, Ronan pivoted her around to face him, her lab coat sliding down her body, his mouth descending on hers.  
  
Part of her wanted to protest as he persuasively lifted her, seating her on the edge of the workbench, his expert lips and hands seducing her body, leaving her mind screaming in futile outrage.  
  
"Why…why are you doing this?" She managed to mumble through the haze of pleasure, noticing in confusion that her clothes seemed to be disappearing at a rapid rate.  
  
Wordlessly, he kissed her throat lightly, his fingers probing and teasing her until she wanted to scream his name, to beg for more.  
  
"You sounded disappointed with your marriage…" He moved her shaking hands down to his belt and murmured. "I thought you might enjoy a bit of change, my sweet young darlin'…its up to you…you don't have to do any more for me or yourself…"  
  
But she knew that wasn't the case. She didn't have a choice at all. Naturally, he wouldn't force himself on one of his best and most useful agents, but her body wanted him and wouldn't let her escape him. It was a no-win scenario.  
  
Staring at him, she felt her resolve weakening. He was stunning, a savage, animal-magnetism aura around him that had been overwhelming when he was in feline form, but now…now, it had intensified one hundred fold. Irresistible. And sheer-sexuality.  
  
"Forget my husband." A voice that sounded like hers spoke. Then she realised it came from her own lips, as she fumbled with his belt and he kissed her fiercely, his hands roaming her body.  
  
In the chill of the lab, she felt the warmth radiating from his body, from his wandering hands and she sighed weakly, as he gently kissed the lobe of her ear, then whispered. "I wonder how far you would go to please me, darlin'…"  
  
"What do you mean?" She nuzzled his neck hungrily, his wonderfully masculine scent – an overwhelming difference in contrast to her husband's musty stench – filling her nostrils.   
  
"Just what I said, darlin'." He smiled a deceptively gentle smile as he ran his hands up her bare back teasingly. "Would you fight for me?" She nodded weakly as he kissed her again, in no position to fight him or her own treacherous body.   
  
"Very good…" He pulled away, tracing a finger down her cheek so lightly he barely touched the soft skin, driving her mad with wanting his touch. "Would you scream for me?"  
  
Nodding, she kissed, him, jerking her wedding ring off and hurling it with unnecessary violence across the lab. "You'll find that out soon, big man." She growled, biting down on his lip.  
  
"One more question, then we will…fuse…to use a scientific term, my darlin'." She stared at him expectantly. "Would you kill for me?"  
  
His seductive caress was driving her insane and she knew she wouldn't last unless she got what she knew he was promising…and to get that meant she had to be willing to cold-heartedly kill. If it meant gaining satisfaction here and now, she would have offered to assassinate the queen.   
  
"YES! By Heaven, yes! I would kill for you!" Almost perversely, McCafferty noticed her cry of assent sounded much like a cry of sexual ecstasy and he knew he would be hearing it again, in a short time.  
  
"Good girl." He purred, a sensual smile on his provocative lips, as he drew her body closer to his. "You won't regret this, my darlin'."  
  


*

  
  
Lying lazily on the bed, Demi watched Menke pulling on his jeans and smiled, stretching her body up against the soft sheets, every curve of her body revealed by the sleek material.  
  
"Any idea what time you'll get home, love?" She enquired, as Menke snatched a clean t-shirt and tugged it over his tousled hair.  
  
"Well," He leaned down and rubbed his forehead against hers fondly. "I'm meeting up with Annie Lawson, so we'll probably go out for a drink, so I'll be back a little later than usual I think."  
  
Sitting up, Demi pulled the sheet around her body, then reached up to kiss her husband. "Pass on my greetings." She murmured, tugging his unruly black and silver mane.  
  
"Naturally, my little wildcat." He replied softly, kissing her lightly on the tip of her nose with a grin.  
  
"Wildcat?" Tackling him, she pinned him flat on his back. Straddling his waist, her sheet clutched tightly around her, she glared down at him, her gold and black mane hanging around her face like silken curtains. "Who do you think you're calling a wildcat, buster?"  
  
"Er…" Blinking sheepishly, Menke cleared his throat weakly, one of his hands slipping under her sheet and up her thigh. "Not you…course not you! I mean...you're so pretty and delicate and sweet and nice and gentle and angelic and pacifistic…"  
  
"Nice to see you can admit it." She smiled sweetly down at him, biting her lip naughtily as he traced his finger lazily across her hip. Reluctantly pulling away from him, she gave him a lazy push off the bed with her foot, then watched him stumble to his feet with a grin and trot towards the door.  
  
"I forgot to mention easily pleased!" He shouted as he ran out of the room, shooting down the banister at full speed as Demi gave a yell of annoyance and leapt out of the bed, giving chase.  
  
"I'd have to be, to settle for you, furball!" She howled as the car raced out of the open garage, his mane streaming behind him like a comet as he poked his head the window and laughed.  
  
Standing at the front door, she waved her fist at him as he sped down the drive and out of the front gate, his silver BMW gleaming in the afternoon light. He waved back cheekily at her, poking his tongue out wickedly.  
  
Sighing, stifling a laugh, she turned back into the hall, as her Star Wars phone rang, the ominous Darth Vader tune booming from the lounge.  
  
Her sheet tripping her, she snagged the phone, dropping onto the sofa with a breathless shriek.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
The voice on the other end of the line spoke in quiet, urgent terms. Rubbing her face, Demi frowned.  
  
"I'll come over straight away." She replied, "Give me an hour."  
  


*

  
  
Leaving Rina tucked up in her bed, under the weather with a bad bout of flu, Demi drove to the hospital to answer the call that she had received, puzzling over the identity of the patient who was asking for her.  
  
Her range-rover was covered in mud, as usual and – even though she had a week's holiday – she still hadn't got around to hosing the dirt off yet. Such is the life of a vet, she grinned wryly, looking from her filthy car to the neat doctors' cars all lined up in perfect, gleaming rows in the car park.  
  
Asking for directions, a young male nurse came and pleasantly offered to show her the way. Following the young man down the hall, she was lead into a room, in which a single figure sat upright in a neat bed.  
  
"Thank you for coming." The woman spoke, her voice muffled by the bandages. "I have to talk to you about something extremely important…"  
  
"Do I know you?" As the nurse departed, Demi frowned at the patient, trying to place the puffy blue eyes and long, golden hair. The woman must have been beautiful before she had ended up in here.  
  
"I'm not sure, Demeter…"  
  
"What…what did you just say?" Warily, Demi took the seat beside the bed, staring at the girl. "Who ARE you?"  
  
Looking around warily, the woman mumbled weakly. "I'm Roxie…I am…was Macavity's lover." Gripping Demi's wrist, she stared at her desperately. "I have to warn you Dem...I don't want him to hurt you again."  
  
"What do you mean?" Demi felt her spine turn to a column of solid ice and shivered involuntarily, narrowing her eyes. "Why would you want to warn me about him? What would it gain you?"  
  
Raising her clouded blue eyes to Demi, Roxie blinked weakly, a silent tear running down her swollen cheek. "He did this to me." She muttered. "He hurt me and I don't want the same to happen to anyone…not even you."  
  
Taking Roxie's trembling hand in her own, Demi nodded wordlessly, feeling a great swell of pity for Macavity's unfortunate lover.  
  
"Can you tell me what he has planned?" She whispered, her golden eyes sympathetic.  
  
Nodding, Roxie smiled bitterly. "I can try…he didn't trust me much, but I know what he wanted to do…"  
  


*

  
  
Running up from the parking lot, Menke vaulted easily over the barrier, landing on one of the feet of the young woman that stood there. "Er…sorry." He grinned sheepishly. "If its not the world's greatest Munkuholic!"  
  
"Nice to see you too, Menke." She grinned back at him. "Luckily for you, I can still feel my foot, so I won't sue you."  
  
Slapping a hand over his heart, Menke clapped her on the shoulder fondly. "You have NO idea how relieved that makes me! I spent all my money on my new car!" Eyeing the suspiciously large folder she gripped in her hand, Menke raised an eyebrow at the young, Londoner. "Been drawing, have you?"  
  
"Just a little." She patted the folder with a smile. "I did something…uh…special for you."  
  
Looking from the folder to its owner, he scratched his head. "Its been a while since we've had the pleasure of your audience-ship, has it not, Miss Lawson? How long is it? One week?" He gasped. "Even two? That's just shocking, Miss Lawson! Just shocking, it is! I thought you were a true fan!"  
  
Chuckling, she replied cheekily. "I had to go and check out a nice French show or two, for your information!"  
  
"French? French?!?" Menke echoed in horror and disbelief. "You mean you betrayed me? Your favourite Munk? To go and see some French can-caning kitty cat?" As emphasis, he did a series of hi-kicks, taking a bow with a broad grin.  
  
"NO!" She retorted indignantly. "Who says I went to see CATS while I was there?"  
  
"You saw it though, didn't you?"  
  
Blinking innocently, she shrugged helplessly. "I…well…maybe I did! I have every right to see different Munkustraps! So there, Mr Can-Can!"  
  
"For goodness sake, Annie, please just act your age for once!" He wagged his finger at her severely. "Anyone would think you were suggesting I was a big kid…what a preposterous suggestion!"  
  
"Perish the thought." Annie laughed.  
  
Glancing around, he saw no other members of the cast and quirked a silvery eyebrow at her. "Care to sneak in for a coffee in the green room, m'dear?"  
  
"Would I ever!" She hefted her folder up, a smile cracking her features. "It took you long enough to ask!"  
  
"Cheeky madame!" He opened the door and ushered her in. "I don't know why I put up with you!"   
  


*

  
  
Sitting back, Demi shook her head. "I don't think he'll do anything soon. That plan sounds like it could take a long time. Had he started on it when he…well…before he did…" She trailed off as Roxie shifted slightly.  
  
"He was still just talking about it." Her voice was rasping. Weak. But she still had some strength. "I think you should notify the police. Get as much security set up as soon you can, because if he moves as fast as he used to, it could only take another week or two for him to get all the right links in all the right places."  
  
Nodding, Demi ran a hand over her brow and sighed. "What I don't understand is why he wants to keep this feud going…he could be successful and all that crap, but he keeps coming after me and Munk."  
  
"He's jealous." Roxie winced as she rubbed the skin around her IV needle. "He wants what you and Munk have always had and he could never find."  
  
"He's taking it too far." She murmured. "This is getting beyond an obsession. I just want some peace to live happily…just for once…not looking over my shoulder every five seconds for an idiotic homicidal maniac."  
  
"Not insane." Roxie gasped, clutching at her ribs. "He may be crazy, but he's no idiot…not by a long shot…he's smarted than anyone gives him credit for. Hitler… Mussolini…all those dictators and people…they had nothing on this guy."  
  
"I'm starting to realise this." Demi nodded weakly. Pushing herself, she asked. "Do you want anything from the shop? I need to get something to drink…"  
  
"To be honest…" The blonde woman gave her a sheepish grin. "I'm dying for a packet of fags…I haven't had a smoke since I got brought in and I'm gaggin' for one…if its not too much trouble?"  
  
"I'll check with the doctor." Winking, Demi grinned at the woman who was barely the same age as her. "If they give me the all clear, you can smoke like a chimney if you want."  
  
"Sounds wonderful." Roxie replied dreamily, as Demi hurried towards the door, colliding with a petite little woman carrying a small, locked box. A box of medicines, she assumed.  
  
"Sorry." She smiled at the small, oriental-looking nurse, ash she ran down the quiet corridors towards the little shop, pausing to see one of the doctors in the medical station, before hurtling onward.  


*

  
  
Leading the way through the theatre, Menke swung open the door of the infamous green room with a flourish, restraining himself from shouting "Ta-da!" with a great deal of effort.  
  
"Er…this is…nice." Annie looked around the room, then briefly at the natty carpet on the floor. "Hmm…is that thing as old as the theatre, Menke? Or did someone spill something or throw up on it?"  
  
"I'm afraid that information is confidential." He grinned engagingly, handing her a mug of slightly sour coffee, his on liberally dosed with five spoonfuls of sugar, a trick learned from the experience of drinking the theatre's coffee straight once before.  
  
Sitting down on one of the chairs, Annie put the coffee down – obviously having thought that the smell was warning enough – and promptly opened her Mary Poppins bag, drawing out a selection of her latest CATS-inspired art.  
  
Noticing him staring at the growing pile, she grinned. "What can I say?" She shrugged expressively. "You inspired me."  
  
"I can understand that one…and that…and that…" He pointed to three show-based ones. "But the others…erm…seem...well…not very CATS-esque."  
  
"My imagination does a lot of work in this case." Was the laughing reply. "And I talked to Demi on the phone again."  
  
"Ah!" Sitting down cross-legged on the floor next to her chair, he picked up a large framed portrait of a Munkustrap – that was undeniably him – sliding down a banister in boxer shorts, a gleeful grin on his face. "OH!"  
  
"Demi asked for that one." Annie put in, watching his face take on a pleasant, reddish glow.  
  
"What about this?" He pushed the first aside and, picking up another, tilted it this way and that, a baffled expression on his face. "Why the skirt?…and which way is it meant to go?"   
  
"Oh!" Amid giggles, she explained. "I knew if I mentioned France, you would have to cancan…you did, so there…a Can-caning Munk piccie…just for the hell of it."  
  
"Oh brother…" He rolled his eyes with a laugh. "You expect me to get my legs that high?" Visibly wincing, he crossed his legs even tighter. "I do like my voice the way it is. Several octaves higher is just not my style!"  
  
Flicking through the others, he voiced his approval loudly, then took Annie up to the dressing rooms to show her his make-up charts and the applying of the familiar grey, white and black paint.  


*

  
  
Returning from the small shop, Demi got back just as the little nurse was leaving and she stopped her.  
  
"Excuse me, please…"  
  
"What can I do for you?" The nurse blinked smoky grey eyes at her, her long black hair in a neat braid hanging down to her waist.  
  
"I was wondering if you could tell me how my friend is doing?" Demi nodded towards into the room, where Roxie lay. "Is she going to be all right?"  
  
The little nurse blinked owlishly at her, tutting. "I can't say, but she was very severely injured when she was brought in." Shrugging, she said. "She could still be in a fatal position, so don't expect too much."  
  
Demi frowned, suspiciously glancing down at the nurse's name tag. Staff nurse B. Ast. Why did that name sound familiar? "Sorry I bothered you." She smiled disarmingly, stepping passed the nurse and into the room.  
  
"Roxie, I got a pack of cigarettes for you…" There was no reply and she looked at her new ally's face, the colour draining from her own face.   
  
Dropping the bag on the floor, she touched the blonde woman's face, a sick feeling hitting her. She pressed her fingers against the pale throat, but the glaze in the eyes told her everything she needed to know.  
  
Hitting the alarm, one of the nurses appeared almost immediately, sending her out of the room, as a fleet more of nurses appeared out of nowhere, joined by doctors from the mobile crash unit.  
  
Demi leaned against the wall outside, her eyes closed in disbelief. Roxie was fine moments but now, she was dead. Just like that. It was impossible. The Doctor had said she was healing nicely, so she shouldn't have dropped dead just like that.  
  
That nurse…B. Ast had warned her that death was imminent. Demi frowned again, thinking. B.Ast…Bast. THAT name, she recognised. One of Macavity's female agents had been called Bast. It all made sense.  
  
Roxie had been murdered. Or as the Macavity would see it – silenced. But not before she had warned Demi. She probably knew her actions would kill her and yet, she still made certain that Demi knew what was in store.  
  
Running through the halls, Demi raced back to her car, racing home as fast as she dared, to the safety of her own house and family.   


*

  
  
Brushing the last whiskers into place, Menke turned to Annie with a wide grin as there was a tap at the door.  
  
Twitching his nose, he stood up. "Un minute." He leapt over pieces of furniture and bags to see who was there, but all that remained was a gaudily wrapped parcel with a tag reading 'Menke' on it.  
  
Looking around, there was no one in sight, so he returned into the room, where Annie was scrutinising the various make-up charts and photographs he had decorated his mirror with.  
  
Sitting down, he blinked at her, knowing she couldn't resist the cheeky look he always gave her in the audience. She tried to fight back a grin, but failed, as he loosened the tacky ribbons around the box, lifting the lid carefully.  
  
Uttering an expletive, he stared at the device in confusion. Annie glanced at him, then at the box as he leapt to his feet. A doll dressed as Munkustrap lay in the box, a clock strapped to its arms, set at eleven o'clock, wires protruding here, there and everywhere.  
  
The small placard the was tied to the figure's neck certainly didn't bode well and Menke thought it might be a safer idea to get away from the doll as fast as they could.  
  
Grabbing the door handle, Menke spat another curse as there came a little beep and the digital display under the clock face started beeping down from ten towards one. Tugging the jammed door, he kicked the door in frustration.   


*

  
  
Time always seems to slow down when your life's in danger, doesn't it? Dammit! Now, poor Annie's in danger because of me! Trapped in this bloody little room with no where to hide or go. And what makes it worse is that she's got me for company! The poor kid must be living in her worst nightmare here!  
  
I don't understand…I mean how did it get here? Why? Who would do this? The little figure looked so innocent, but all those wires…it couldn't just be a clock…especially not when its got a little sign saying. "Have a nice die, Munkustrap."   
  
For goodness sake! They didn't even give me a decent pun to die by! Now, THAT is the biggest insult of all! Why not something heroic like…oh, I don't know…anything but that piece of pathetic humour! If they're going to kill me, they certainly didn't want me to die laughing, did they?  
  
The timer's getting close to zero and as a matter of fairness, I shield Annie's body with my own, in case it really is a bomb – it ticks, it looks like a bomb and it has a death threat…I'd says it a bomb – because it wasn't even for her.   
  
You see, I don't like to share my CATS presents. If something like that is mine, no one else ever gets a turn to play with it. It's my bomb! Mine! Well…bomb, not mine really…but you get the idea…  
  
3…2…1…  
  
  



	5. Together Again - Part 5

Singing softly, Demi poured the boiling water into the mug, pulling the string of the teabag in time with her song, glancing across at Rina who was buried up to her eyeballs in boxes of tissues

Singing softly, Demi poured the boiling water into the mug, pulling the string of the teabag in time with her song, glancing across at Rina who was buried up to her eyeballs in boxes of tissues.  
  
"So much for us having a sisterly night out." She murmured, as the redhead released another sneeze, snagging a wad of toilet paper and blowing her nose indignantly at her sister.  
  
"I didn't ask to get a cold." Rina complained muffledly, her eyes red-rimmed from watering so much. Rubbing her eyes, she looked at her sister curiously. "Where did you run off to, this morning?"  
  
Handing Rina the mug of tea, Demi dropped into the seat, trying to fight back the burning tears that had been threatening to overwhelm her since she got back from the hospital.  
  
"Demi? Whats wrong?" Leaning across the table, she took her sister's ice-cold hands in hers. "What happened?"  
  
"You'll think I'm crazy..." Demi mumbled, staring down at the smooth surface of the table, a tear trickling down her cheek slowly. "But I think someone wants to kill me..."  
  
The silence that fell was only broken by the rustling of Rina's duvet, as she stumbled to her feet and shambled around the table, hugging her sister tightly. "And I believe you." She murmured raspingly.   
  
Throwing her arms around her sister's waist, Demi swallowed a painful sob, her hot face burying against the comforting warmth of her sister's body. "I'm so scared, Rina." She whispered. "I don't want anyone to hurt us..."  
  
"I know, Dem." Rina stroked her hair gently. "I know."  
  
  


*

  
  
His body crouched over Annie's, Menke tensed his muscles, his eyes pressed shut, waiting for the explosion.  
  
The explosion that never came.  
  
There was a dull "whoompf" from the box, a brief scent of burning, a muffled crackling hiss and then nothing. Silence.  
  
Opening one eye, his body still taut, he glanced nervously over his shoulder.  
  
Straightening up, all the air in his lungs rushed out in a relieved gasp of air, as he slumped against the door, his eyes closed with relief, his entire frame trembling. "I never want to go through that again..." He mumbled through white lips.  
  
"What the hell was it?" Annie managed to whisper, her face white as she sank down beside him, shakily grasping his hand for reassurance.  
  
Shrugging, his face blank, he swallowed hard. "I'm not sure..." He pushed himself to his feet slowly, still trembling, and approached the desk uneasily, staring at the ruined, charred box and the doll within.  
  
The little figure's body had blown into six neat sections, a coil of paper protruding from a hole in the centre of the neck.  
  
Tentatively, Menke shook the ash from the box off the broken piece of grey- and black-striped torso, his quivering fingers carefully pulling the scrap of rolled-up paper and unrolling it shakily.  
  
Stumbling to her feet, Annie leaned against the wall behind her, still shaking as much as he was. "What is that?" She asked softly.  
  
Reading outloud, Menke felt a chill run down his spine. "Not everyone loves Munkustrap." He read out loud, squinting at the scrawled writing. "Next time, you won't be so lucky."  
  
"Sick bastard." Annie managed to say, running her fingers uneasily through her cropped hair. "What are you gonna do?"  
  
"Do you think I should call the police?" He asked, slowly turning over the remains in his hands. "I mean now....cos the show starts in twenty minutes...I don't want to disrupt anything..."  
  
Squeezing his muscular shoulder, Annie sighed uncertainly. "Its up to you, but I think you should at least contact them...I mean, you could see them after the show, straight away..."  
  
Nodding, Menke laid the little figure down as the door swung easily open and Philip Tenant – Menke's closest friend on the cast and his main understudy – sauntered in, whistling, his hands jammed in his pockets.  
  
"Damn, I was hoping you woulda gone to your maker now." He grinned jokingly at Menke's back, noticing the sudden tensing in his bare shoulders, as Annie muffled a sharp cry. "What did I say?"  
  
"Only this." Menke didn't look back as he held out the scrap of paper, his hard eyes fixed on the desk, his mucles standing out like ridges on his back, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the edge of the desk, his jaw tight.  
  
Philip scanned the paper, a look of sick horror spreading across his face. "Who the hell did this? Is it meant to be some kind of sick joke?"  
  
Running one hand through his hair, Menke turned round, sitting on the edge of the desk, folding his arms across his chest. "I don't know, Phil." He replied honestly. "I just don't know..."  
  
"You gonna be okay?" Philip's concern was apparent.   
  
"Don't think you're gonna take my role, just like that." Menke pushed himself upright, wagging a finger at Philip with a smile that seemed almost natural, only his eyes were shadowed. "I'm Munkustrap tonight, so there!"  
  
"Typical!" With a huff of indignation, Philip smacked Menke on the arm. "You always have to spoil my fun, don't you?"  
  
Glancing at Annie, Menke noticed her tense expression and promptly pulled her into a reassuring hug against his warm chest. "You gonna be okay?"  
  
Nodding weakly, Annie grinned nervously up at him. "I think so." She replied with an uneasy giggle.  
  
Sitting down at the desk, Philip started sponging white and grey make-up onto his face, whistling.  
  
"What do you think you're doing?" Menke quirked an eyebrow.  
  
Shrugging, the younger dancer flashed him a cheeky grin. "It doesn't hurt to be prepared." He retorted, carefully applying stripes neatly to his face and deftly brushing narrow lines around his brown eyes.  
  
"Two Munkustraps..." Annie's face split into a grin. "How on earth can I cope?"  
  
Adding the finishing touches, Philip turned around with a grin. "I dread to think... wait til you see us in costume together..." He glanced up at Menke. "Don't we look wonderful, darling?"  
  
"As ever." Menke agreed, grinning down at his double.  


*

  
  
Testing the soup, Demi grimaced, hastily shaking a overdose of herbs over the surface to disguise the flavour, before carefully lifting to bowl and walking over to the couch, where Rina lay.  
  
Peering out from beneath her duvet, Rina sniffed muffledly, blinking her bleary eyes at Demi. "Wassat?"  
  
"Some soup to keep your strength up."   
  
"Did you say soup or poop?" Rina mumbled, rubbing her eyes as her sister perched lightly on the edge of the coffee table and proferred the bowl of steaming, curdled liquid, lumps of...something floating just under the surface.  
  
"Don't cheek me young lady." Demi gave her a wan smile. "I had other stuff on my mind, over making soup."  
  
Nodding sympathetically, one of Rina's icy hands poked out from the duvet and squeezed Demi's gently. "Are you going to call the police, Dem? I think you should..."  
  
"I...I'm going to talk to Menke about it first..." Tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, Demi released a sigh. "This is something that...well...if they do anything...it would affect both of us...a lot..."  
  
"All of us." Rina murmured with a reassuring smile. "You're not getting rid of me that easily, sis."  
  
Throwing her arms impulsively around her sister, Demi forced back the tears she felt brimming in her eyes. Sappy twat, she muttered to herself, burying her face in Rina's thick hair. "You know, kid...you're the best sister anyone could have."  
  
"I would agree," Rina mumbled, tugging Demi's braid. "Only, you keep trying to poison me with that god-awful stuff you call...soup..."  
  
"Cheeky madam!" Pulling back, she grinned at her sister, glad that the red-haired wonder had always been able to cheer her up. "Care to watch a video?"  
  
Shrugging, Rina grinned. "I guess so...since we're not going to be going anywhere tonight at this rate..."  
  
"A night in for the girls." Mussing her sister's red mane, Demi laughed softly. "The hubby'll be in the opening of his performance now...Just perfect...some peace and quiet and time for girly goss! And NO Menke!"  
  
Hi-fiving her dark-haired, elder sister, Rina grinned. "This is going to be a night to remember, I betcha."   
  


*

  
  
Outside of the theatre, the sinister figure gave a cruel chuckle. He could faintly hear the music of the 'Overture' playing within the theatre. It was time for his plan to fall into place.  


*

  
  
Racing back onstage after the Macavity duet, Menke leapt back a pace as Demeter and Bombalurina raced to the edge of the stage, his mind still wandering back to the event a few hours previously. It had been on his mind through the entire show.  
  
It had all been too much...almost. And he'd only told two of his closest friends in the cast – ironically Macavity and his double – then called the police and asked them to come to the theatre after the show.  
  
His friends had asked the same questions as he had: How had the bomb gotten into the theatre in the first place? No one had been seen or heard entering or leaving the building aside from people with passes.  
  
Moving forward to greet Nicky Murphy in his Macavity-as-Old-Deuteronomy disguise, lines from the previous song thundered through his head... "He's a Master Criminal who can defy the law...when they reach the scene of crime, Macavity's not there..."  
  
Whirling to see the undisguised Nicky lunge at Hayley – the cast's current Demeter, Menke felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach, the colour flooding from his face.  
  
"Christ! NO!" Suddenly it all made sense. Everything that had happened to him. Everything that Demi had said. It all made sense.  
  
Sprinting across the stage, he leapt over the crouching figure of Jennyanydots, his feet barely touching the ground as he raced down the ramp, leaving the cast staring after him in astonishment.  
  
Stumbling up the stairs, his legs suddenly unable to hold his weight, he fell against his desk, groping for his mobile and hastily opening it, his hands trembling so much he was barely able to dial.  
  
"C'mon, Demi...answer...please...answer, darli..."  
  
"Y'ello?" Her familiar voice rang down the line.  
  
"Dem...thank god." He breathed, sinking to the floor.  
  
"Munk? What is it? Whats wrong?"  
  
Swallowing hard, he urgently spoke. "Dem, listen to me...you have to get out of the house! Please...get out NOW!" She tried to interrupt but he was having none of it, the tension shattering his reason as he yelled. "Dem! Get the hell out of the house! He's coming for you! You have to get to sa..."  
  
An ominous crash at the other end of the line made him jump.   
  
"Dem?"  
  
The single scream that shattered the silence that had fallen made his skin crawl. His wife's voice in a ringing, terrified voice – "McCAFFERTY!" – echoed by mocking cold laughter, then the line went dead.  
  
"Dem? DEM?" Frantically redialling, he was met by a dull flat tone. "NO!" Snapping around, he snatched his carkeys just as Philip ran in, worry on his face.   
  
"Menke? What the hell do you think your playing at?"  
  
"Demi." He mumbled, scalding tears brimming down his face as he pushed passed Philip and started down the flights of stairs a full-speed, muttering, "I'm comin', Dem, I'm comin'!"  
  
"Menke?" Glancing towards the stage, the Munkustrap-garbed actor sighed. Might as well finish ruining the show, he mused, sprinting off down the stairs after Menke, the Stage Door slowly swinging shut as he reached the bottom.  
  
Following the pair of stagehands pointing fingers, he burst out of the door, running full-pelt into the railing.  
  
Staring around hopelessly, he leapt back with a curse, just in time to avoid being hit by the wing mirror of Menke's familiar silver BMW as it screeched around the corner, smashing into several bins and skidding to an abrupt halt.  
  
Waving frantically, Philip started to run up the narrow road. "Menke! Wait! Menke! The show!"  
  
"Screw the show!" The actor yelled back, jamming the accelerator to the floor, his face was a taut and desperate mask as he sped away, still repeating. "I'm comin' Dem, I'm comin'..."  
  


*

  
  
"I'm going to kill that stupid basta..."  
  
"Hayley!" As the slim dancer stormed into her dressing room, tearing her wig off and viciously slamming it on the table, she swung to face her compatriot. "Hayl, something bad must've happened to make him go crazy like that..."  
  
"It'll be worse when I see him." She snarled, slamming her palms on the desk in frustration. "Disappearing in the middle of the bloody show!"  
  
"Mike's gonna be bad enough." Sylvie murmured, carefully moving her Bombalurina wig. "He doesn't need you yelling at him too."  
  
Leaning heavily on her hands, Hayley released a slow sigh. "I love that guy, but thi... this is the last straw. Mike'll want rid of him now, no matter the excuse."  
  
"That's the truth." Whirling around, they found Mike – Coricopat – standing in the doorway, his expression as black as thunder.  
  
"He had a bloody good reason." Philip walked in angrily, his fists firmly balled on his hips. "You can't get rid of him...he was born to be Munkustrap."  
  
"Good reason or not, the son of a bitch is out of order." Shrugging, Mike glared up at Philip. "He put himself into that situation, no turning back..." He paused to stare pointedly at the substitute Munkustrap. "And anyone who gets in the way can just go with him."  
  
A massive hand clamped on the dance captain's shoulder, spinning him around in time to see the fist that sent him crashing against the wall, crushing his nose like an overripe fruit, a spurt of blood gushing from his nostrils.  
  
Raising a hand, Mike glanced down at the blood steadily dripping into his palm, raising eyes full of rage and pain to stare at the panting Nicky who towered him, his eyes never leaving Mike's.  
  
"What the he...?"  
  
"Don't you care that Menke was almost killed today?" The tall, actor-dancer growled, his hands still curled in fists at his sides. "The poor sod coulda died and now you wanna sack him?"  
  
"Killed?" Hayley's mouth suddenly felt dry.  
  
Twisting his warmer around his hand, Philip whispered, barely audibley, shaking his head numbly. "Something happened to Demi...that's why he ran..."  
  
"What do you mean 'something'?" Stumbling to his feet, Mike grabbed a handful of tissues, his voice muffled.  
  
"No clue." Sinking down in a seat, Philip sighed sadly. "I hope to god nothing's happened to her...or him. They don't deserve it...not at all..."  
  


*

  
  
Tears of rage and pain burning in his eyes, Menke zig-zagged through the familiar streets and traffic, hitting the accelerator as soon as he hit the stretch of motorway, his heart thumping agonisingly against his ribs.  
  
Dialling 999 on his mobile, he furiously slammed his palms against the steering wheel with an angry shout. Trust his phone to die right now. Just when he needed it the most!  
  
He would get there in time. He just had to. He couldn't lose her. Not again. Not the same way. He couldn't.  


*

  
  
I don't know how long I'd been lying there. Sprawled out on the cold, stone steps like carelessly tossed aside ragdoll. I just know I opened my eyes and found myself sprawled on the flagstones.  
  
My first thoughts were immediately for Demi. Who had the shadowy, faceless men been? What had they done to my sister?  
  
Then – of course – the pain decided to remind me just why I didn't know where my sister was. How...nice of it. It snuck up from behind as I tried to rise and hit me. Hit me...that's a loose term. Flattened me. Played the proverbial steamroller and squashed me face-down against the ground again.  
  
I'd never felt anything like it. Never wanted to before or after, either.  
  
But I had to find her, even with a steamroller parked on top of me. I knew I had to help her. I knew no one else could.  
  
Ignoring the lances of pain that were stabbing at every inch of my body and against my better judgement, I forced myself to my feet, almost collapsing as my ankle went the opposite direction from my foot.  
  
Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhheesh, that hurt!  
  
Still, I somehow managed to stay upright. The pain unimportant. I wanted to find Demi. She was in trouble again, like when we were kids. I always helped her then. I sure as hell wasn't gonna give up on her now.  
  
Limping into the house, to the phone – sensible idea for an airhead like me, huh? – I stopped short in shock. Everything was utterly smashed, wrecked or torn beyond recognition.  
  
Only one thing remained in place: The wedding portrait Annie Lawson had done for them...marred by horrifying claw marks, Menke's face torn away completely.  
  
Stumbling back, I tripped over the telephone. Surely I could call for help...no such luck. The dead tone of the phone chilled me. I had to get help. I needed to get Menke. The police. Demi needed us.  
  
Shuffling out the front door, I know Demi's ford is in the garage...or – at least – it was, until they kindly torched it. Hell! Anyone would think they wanted me to die quietly! Not a snowball's chance in hell! They obviously don't know me.  
  
Thinking on it, its typical, you know. My one week off and I end up probably ending my career in an unacknowledged piece of self-sacrifice. Hehe. Me...I deserve a medal.  
  
Ah well, if I do myself a little bit more damage, it won't matter. I'm gonna walk out of here. I'm gonna get help if it kills me.  


*

  
  
Drumming his finger impatiently on the steering wheel, menke almost shouted with relief as the traffic shifted and he wheeled into his turn-off, the tyres screeching.  
  
Slamming the accelerator flat against the floor, he sped as if he had demons on his tail, the wind streaming through the window, whipping his hair into a frenzy, his eyes so fiercely focussed on the road ahead, he was oblivious to all around him, even the flashing blue light behind him as he swung sharply, avoiding a near collision at the intersection.  
  
Spinning the steering wheel, he swung into the long road running up towards the house he shared with Demi and Rina.  
  
"What the...?" Hitting the brakes, several ribs snapped as he was flung against the wheel, but he ignore them and stumbled out of the car, running to the figure who collapsed in the road. "Rina?"  
  
"Menk.." He could barely make out her words, her face a battered mess, almost unrecognisable, her body beaten and broken "They...they took...her..."  
  
The two policeman who had been trailing Menke approached, staring down – bemused – at the pair, as the wigless, costumed CATS actor gently gathered his sister-in-law gently in his arms, tears streaking his make-up.  
  
"Don't just stand there!" He rasped bitterly. "Get a bloody ambulance!"  
  
"Menk..." Rina's swollen eyes turned to him.  
  
"Don't speak, Rina..." He stroked her cheek gently, whispering reassuringly. "You'll be okay, Ri...you will..."  
  
"If I die..."  
  
"You're not going to die!" He protested.  
  
"If I do..." She repeated weakly. "Tell Dem I...I love her." He nodded wordlessly. "And do something...for me..."  
  
"Ambulance on its way." One of the policemen put in awkwardly.  
  
Ignoring him, Menke nodded. "Anything, Rina."  
  
"Get the bastard for me." She breathed harshly. "Make him pay." She shuddered, slumping against him, silent.  
  
"I will, Rina." He held her close, pressing his eyes shut as tears streamed freely down his face. "I swear on my life that he won't get away with this...not this time. Not again."  
  
  
  
  



	6. Together Again - Part 6

Anger and torment were etched on his features

Anger and torment were etched on his features. He continued to pace back and forth with the controlled rage and patience of a dangerous silver tiger.  
  
If it hadn't merely been a costume, complete with tied-on tail and painted stripes, any observers would have sworn his fur was bristling and his hackles were raised.  
  
He had been stalking the waiting rooms since the ambulance had arrived to bring his injured sister-in-law to the city hospital, barely half an hour earlier, leaving his car abandoned by the roadside.  
  
"Mr Strep?" A nurse nervously approached the unnerving silver tiger.  
  
Nodding, he stared down at her anxiously, the neat lines of his grey and black make-up smudged around his eyes, the piercing green iris' burning intensely. "What's going on? Is she going to be all right?"  
  
"Would you like to go somewhere private?" She laid a hand on his arm, but he shook it off.  
  
"Is she going to be all right?" He repeated stubbornly, his expression hard.  
  
Taking his arm, she forcibly lead him to a quieter part of the waiting rooms, opening the door of a smaller room and – pushing him in gently – gestured for him to sit. "This isn't about your sister-in-law, Mr Strep...the police say they want to talk to you..."  
  
"But Rina..." He was on his feet and about to push passed her, when she touched his hand gently.  
  
"I'll tell you straight away if anything happens." She promised, gazing earnestly up at him. "Just wait in there...I'll get you something to drink...then the police will come along, okay?"  
  
Reluctantly nodding, he returned to the seat, smiling weakly as the nurse returned and placed a cup of steaming, sour-smelling coffee in his nerveless hand.  
  
Shutting the door behind her, Menke stared at the light flickering in through the window, his hand clenching into a tight fist as tears ran down his cheeks silently, the burning of the boiling liquid on his hands unnoticed as he crumpled the paper cup.  
  
"I'll find you, Demi...I'll find you...I swear..."  
  


*

  
  
Wave after wave of fury assaulted her senses, tears of burning rage tearing down her face, her white-knuckled hands twisting into her unbound hair. Twisting. Twisting.  
  
The silence deafened her, forcing her into a corner, pushing her until she was as small as she could be, the pain of knowing what lay in store cutting to her core like the cruellest of blades.  
  
A single bulb illuminated the stone room, the raw beams penetrating every shadow, leaving no part untouched, the light defiling everything in its path, unstoppable.  
  
Gouts of dark, crimson blood stained her nails and fingertips, oozing from the half-moon-shaped cuts forming – unseen – beneath the sheltering veil of her heavy, tangled mass of hair. The dark mass being the only thing that shielded her from complete humiliation.  
  
He was playing with her. Testing her. Mentally psyching her.  
  
Her fear was more than apparent, the nervous, angst-ridden persona she had been prey to as a feline returning tenfold as all her barriers maintaining her sanity crumbled, leaving only the raw terror.  
  
Balanced on her toes, her body coiled tensely, she stared apprehensively as the massive door opened, the familiar silhouette standing there, the harsh light caressing his sharp features, casting malevolent shadows across his face.  
  
"Demi," He took a step into the room. "You don't need to be afraid of me, luv."  
  
Rocking back and forth on her heels frantically, she shook her head, inhaling a sharp breath and releasing a high-pitched wail of despair, her golden eyes wide, pupils dilated in terror.  
  
Slamming the door behind him, he strode savagely across the room, grasping her painfully by the tender flesh of her upper-arm, viciously swinging his other hand in a reverse blow, leaving her uneasily balancing on her knees, one hand pressed to her swelling cheek.  
  
"That was stupid." He growled, tightening his grip on her arm, his other hand twisting her face up to face him until he could see the hatred that gleamed, as cold as ice, in her tear-streaked eyes.  
  
The flare of her nostrils should have warned him that she was about to do something, but he caught it too late as she lunged forward, smashing her forehead against his nose, a gush of crimson streaming down his face, his grip loosening momentarily.  
  
As he fell back, she scrambled to her feet, racing for the door, her fear speeding her onwards.  
  
But not fast enough.  
  
His blood marred her smooth, bare, white skin as his hands grabbed her, throwing her to the cold, stone floor, his knee pressing agonisingly against her taut spine.  
  
"What did you think you were doing?" He murmured, drawing her hair back from her tear-soaked cheeks, his blood dripping down onto the skin and mingling with the silent flow of tears.  
  
Looking away from him, she stifled a whimper of pain as his teeth sank into her earlobe, a stinging stream of red puddling on the floor.  
  
"Well?" he pushed his knee harder against her back until she cried out. "What did you think you were doing?"  
  
"Menke will find me." She whispered, ignoring him as best she could, gritting her teeth against the pain. An inch further and she knew he could snap her spine. "He'll beat you again...he will..."  
  
McCafferty chuckled. "Sorry, pet." He growled in her ear. "As of..." He glanced at his watch, " Ten minutes ago, your precious husband is nothing more than a bloody smear in a wrecked car."  
  
Stiffening, Demi twisted her head round to stare at him, the smug expression on his facing saying more than she needed to know. "Y...you're lying!" She whispered, trying to ignore the cruel smile on his face.  
  
"Why would I waste time with lies when the truth is so much fun?" He murmured silkily, sliding one intrusive hand between her thighs. "You're a widow now, Demi...and you're mine..."  
  
"And you wonder why I ran!" Trying to pull away from his hand, from him, she gave a scream as he jammed his knee down harder on her back, the pain bursting through her like electricity. "Ronan...please..."  
  
"I'm not Ronan!" McCafferty twisted his fist into her long hair until tears came, a sharp tearing from her scalp echoed by a whimper of agony.  
  
Inhaling a shaking breath, Demi forced herself to nod. "You are..." She whispered, her voice so low he had to strain to hear. "Under all of it...all the bad...you're still Ronan... you just have to fight...please..."  
  
Cursing savagely, he rose, pulling her to her feet by her hair, a black bruise blossoming on her back.   
  
"You don't know what you're talking about, bitch." Throwing her away from him, the sickening thump as she hit the stone wall made him smile. The smile widened as she slumped to the floor, blood pooling darkly around her.  
  
A hunger rose in him, her bloody, naked body demanding his attention. Happy to oblige the tightening in his crotch, he ripped off his shirt, loosening his belt as he advanced towards her, smiling with sadistic anticipation as she sobbed, trying to back away.  
  
But there was nowhere for her to run. Nowhere to hide. No one to save her.  
  
No one.  


*

  
  
Raising his face as the door opened, casting a beam of light in his eyes, he hastily smeared his make-up and tears into a striped mess with his black warmer, staring intensely up at the two policemen.  
  
"Mr Strep..." The Senior Officer sat down, started speaking straight away. "The car you left at the roadside – registration number 'CAT5 0UT' – it was yours, was it not?"  
  
"What do you mean 'was it'?" He demanded suspiciously. "As far as I know it still 'is' my car."  
  
The Senior policeman leaned forward – the way they did when they brought bad news in the movies and on TV Menke noticed detachedly, uncertain if he could take any more on this already-crap day – and seriously said. "You're car seems to have had some faulty wiring. We're still investiga..."  
  
"What are you saying?" Cutting in, he crossed his black- and silver-striped arms over his chest with a grave expression.   
  
"Your car exploded five minutes ago, sir." The younger officer put in helpfully.  
  
Swearing under his breath, Menke rose and moved to the window, staring out dully, as he fought to hold his fury at bay, trying to contain the tremor he knew would be in his voice. "What time is it?" He asked hoarsely over his shoulder.  
  
"Er...just after eleven, sir."  
  
Leaning his forehead against the cool glass, Menke gave a harsh little laugh. "I think you screwed up, Mac, dear." He murmured dangerously. "Timing is everything, don't you know."  
  
"You know who did this, sir?"  
  
Turning his head, he glanced at the policemen briefly. His palm pressed to the cool glass, he turned back to the window, staring down into the deserted street, his long hair hanging down over his face.  
  
The image of the little Munkustrap doll rose in his mind, the watch strapped onto it clearer than he remembered. The reason he'd fled the show. The reason he knew what the hell was going on.  
  
"I have a vague suspicion." He replied in a hushed voice, lowering his hand and gazing ponderously at the misty imprint on the glass. "A vague suspicion."  
  


*

  
  
Pacing fitfully across the room, he laid his forehead against the chilly window with a low groan, his body refusing to sleep.   
  
Pouring himself another whisky from the bottle that sat, half-empty, on the desk, he downed it quickly, the liquid burning in his throat reassuringly as he slammed the glass down on the oak.  
  
The image of her curled – sobbing hysterically – on the stone floor rose in front of his eyes once again, despite his best efforts to force it away. The terror in her eyes tore into him in a way no physical pain would.  
  
Turning, he sank down on the window-ledge, his green eyes squeezed shut, trying to block out the image, but only succeeding in forcing guilty tears down his taut face.  
  
With a bellow of rage, he swept the surface of the desk clear, sinking to his knees amid the mess, his hands pressed to his temples as if he was trying to force his fingertips through his skull, to tear the memories out of his mind.  
  
"Sir?" Phipps peered around the doorframe cautiously.  
  
"What is it?" McCafferty growled, raising dangerous eyes. Phipps shook his head, his mouth dry, unable to think of anything to say. "Is Demeter still unconscious?" He abruptly demanded.  
  
"Y...yes, sir." Nodding shakily, Phipps stared at McCafferty in confusion. Something seemed wrong about the way he was acting – Erratic. Unusual. Sniffing the air, he sighed. Drunk.  
  
Stumbling to his feet, panting, his face red, McCafferty wagged a finger at Phipps, his words slurred. "Get her brought here...I want a nice clean bird in my bed...bring her and water..."  
  
Backing out of the room, Phipps closed the door just as McCafferty collapsed to the floor with his hands against his temples, a low groan on pain bursting from his lips.  


*

  
  
I'll kill him. I'm going to tear his heart out of his body and show him how black it is. I can outlast this. I'm tough. I'm strong. I'm...  
  
God...what am I?  
  
A whore? A filthy, sex-crazed slut? That's what he said. He said I was a slut. He said I enjoyed it. He said I liked the pain. I can't. I can't like it. I can't enjoy him. He killed my husband. He killed Menke.  
  
Menke.  
  
All I can see are his eyes. He's so upset with me. He knows I've had sex with Macavity again. He knows I enjoyed it. But I didn't want to. I was thinking about him. I couldn't help it. I tried not to like it. I tried.  
  
He's right.  
  
I'm a whore.   
  
An ugly bitch who likes being raped. Who likes a real man to take control. Who likes having the living crap battered out of her after finding out her husband has been murdered by the man doing the crap-battering.  
  
NO! It's wrong! I love Menke. I love Menke! I hate Macavity! I'm not a whore! I'm not. He's making me believe his lies. He's making me believe him. He wants me to believe him and all his lies. I won't!  
  
He knows how to touch to make me want him, but I don't want him. I don't want him near me. All I want is him to be dead. Dead for what he did to us. For what he did to Rina. For what he did to poor Ronan.  
  
I'll kill him myself.  
  
I'll show him how much I hate him. How wrong he is. He can call me all the names he like, but that doesn't stop me from being who I am.  
  
I am Demi Strep, wife of Menke Strep, reincarnation of Demeter. I am no whore. No sex-crazed slut. And when I get enough strength back to move this pathetic of body of mine, that bastard is going to be sorry he ever heard the name of Demi Strep.  


*

  
  
Glancing down at the pale, battered female in his bed, McCafferty gave a low sigh of disgust, massaging his temples with his fingertips, trying to still the pulsing throb that refused to be silenced.  
  
Drink had brought out his weakness. His guard had fallen and Ronan had been able to peek through, having the whore brought up and her wounds cleaned.  
  
She wasn't going to be going anywhere any time soon. As long as she was here, he planned to make use of her, grateful that he had barely damaged her skin, despite all the injuries he knew he had done her.   
  
A master of torture, he was, and he was proud of that ability.  
  
But he had to make certain that his plans went on as he had meant them too. No more drinking, or leaving his body open to weaknesses like Ronan. And definitely no more chances were to be taken.  
  
Picking up the phone, he swiftly dialled out. "Missy, hello darlin'." He smiled, giving her the new orders and hanging up.  
  
Nothing left to chance now.  


*

  
  
"What the hell do you mean 'He's clean?' " Whirling around, Menke stared at the police officers again, feeling Philip's reassuring hand squeezing his shoulder. "The guy has had it in for me for years and now and when he does something, you can't catch him?"  
  
"Mr Strep." The officer from C.I.D. sighed slowly, lowering her cup to the table. "We can't find any evidence. It's as simple as that. We're doing all we can to find your wife and all we ask is that you remain with friends and try not to overreact."  
  
"Overreact?"  
  
Philip grabbed Menke's shoulders firmly, holding him back. "Easy, mate. It won't help to get angry."  
  
Glaring at the blonde policewoman, Menke growled. "You're telling me not to get angry...my wife is missing, my sister-in-law is in a coma, my house is in ruins, my car has been destroyed, the police can't find anything to convict the guy who did it and I'm expected to be all sunshine and light?"  
  
"Things like this take time, Mr Strep." The woman insisted, looking as if she'd never even stepped outside an office, her suit impeccable as she stood up. "I'm sure we'll catch whoever did this as long as you don't try and take matters into your own hands. We're working around the clock."  
  
Looking away, the tall actor prowled away, across the room, his hands folded behind his back as he gazed out of the window.  
  
"If you need anything," Speaking to both Philip and Menke, she smiled and handed Philip her card. "Call me, any time – ask for Mel Issy, if you call the office."  
  
Ignoring her, Menke rubbed the back of his neck, a slow frown crossing his face as he thought over what had been leading up to events of the three days before. Rina was still comatose in the hospital with low survival chances and there had been no sign of Demi returning.  
  
"Here, mate." Pushing the card into Menke's stiff hand, Philip went to see Chief Inspector M. Issy to the door, leaving Menke staring dully down at the piece of card in his hand, frowning as he stared at the name again.  
  
"I don't believe it." He whispered, narrowing his eyes slowly.  
  
On autopilot, he made his way through to the guestroom and picked up his trainers, pulling them on, running his fingers through his tangled, unbrushed mane, picking up his bomber jacket as he headed towards the door.  
  
"Where are you off to, mate?" Philip called.  
  
Pausing at the door, Menke gave him a weak smile, lifting the spare key off the rack that hung on the wall. "I think I'll go and visit Rina, Phil. See how she's doing...enjoy your date with Annie."  
  
"It's not a date!" Philip yelled as Menke shut the door behind himself and ran lightly down the stairs from the flat.  


*

  
Storming furiously passed the gabbling receptionist, he threw the doors open, the massive brass handles smashing against the walls with a crash, plaster splintering onto the immaculate carpet.  
  
"Mr Strep." Rising from his position at the end of the long table, McCafferty gave a friendly smile. "How can I help you?"  
  
Growling deep in his throat, the feline instincts aroused, Menke stalked up the room, ignoring the baffled stares from the committee members seated around the table.  
  
"Don't play games with me, Macavity." He snarled, his hands balled into white-knuckled fists. "I know you...I know what you've done..."  
  
"And I know you too." Smiling disarmingly, the copper-haired businessman spread his hands with a shrug. "But who is this 'Macavity'? Is there anything I can actually help you with at all?"  
  
His voice surprisingly calm, Menke returned the smile chillingly. "Yes," He murmured slowly. "There is something you can help me with."  
  
McCafferty's tone was condescending as he enquired – in a voice dripping with politeness – "And what would that be?"  
  
Lunging forward, Menke grabbed McCafferty's lapel, pulling his face close, his grass-green eyes intense. "You can tell me," His voice was incredibly low, controlled and dangerous. "What the hell you've done with my wife, you bastard."  
  
Forcing his rage down, McCafferty gave an amicable laugh. "Your wife?" He repeated with a smile. "What would I do with your wife?"  
  
Staring at his suave, copper-haired rival, Menke felt something snap at that mocking, condescending smile.  
  
His fist exploded, smashing against McCafferty's nose with a reassuringly sickening crunch of bone, sending the businessman pinwheeling backwards, slamming into the wall behind him.  
  
Several committee members rose to charge at the tall attacker who – with his unkempt black hair, wild eyes and rumpled clothing – looked passed caring about anything. The muscles that rippled beneath his tight jeans and shirt, however, dissuaded them somewhat.  
  
"You know what I want, Macavity." Menke spoke softly to the man who half-sat at his feet, blood streaming down his face. Fierce green eyes gleamed dangerously behind a curtain of black and silver hair. "Give me my wife."  
  
Slowly standing, McCafferty was the image of glacial calm, his smile humorous, but his eyes were deadly. "That was stupid." He remarked casually, dabbing his nose with a handkerchief.  
  
Shrugging, Menke balled his fists on his hips. Maybe it was." He replied softly, "but it sure as hell made me feel better."  
  
"You know the police already visited me." McCafferty's voice was silky smooth. "I have an alibi."  
  
"And one or two to spare." Menke snapped. Stepping closer, he stared fiercely into McCafferty's deep eyes. "I know what you've done." He murmured. "And I'll prove it too." He patted the copper-haired villain's cheek. "Darlin'."  
  
Pivoting on heel, he stalked out of the meeting chamber, leaving the group of committee members staring at one another, dumbfounded.  
  
Unnoticed, McCafferty nodded to Andy Hendrix and Tony Steward, who both slipped – unseen – out of the door, in the same direction as the furious silver-tabby-come-human had gone.  


*

  
  
Still can't see anything. My eyes are covered with a blindfold. He laughs and says I'm weak. Says I'll be allowed to see when I behave.  
  
I'm so scared. I just want to be back with Menke. I didn't want any of this.  
  
I don't want to believe Menke is dead. I don't want him to be another body. I don't want to be alone. I want some hope to cling to. Something that will let me be reassured.  
  
But it's never going to happen.  
  
Not as long as Macavity exists.  


*

  
  
The stone of the floor was cold against his skin, the warmth of the blood the only thing that changed that.  
  
Doubled over in pain, his hands protectively shielded his groin from any further damage as McCafferty lazily rolled him over with his foot, gazing down in amusement at his contorted face.  
  
"I have to say." He remarked pleasantly, "Running out in the middle of the show was a nice effect." He stepped back to avoid the spreading puddle of blood, as Menke's arms were bound together, the narrow but strong wire slicing into the skin of his bare wrists. "It was very...noble. Stupid, but noble."  
  
"You really need to get a hobby." Pulled up to his knees, Menke's face was streaked with crimson, a trickle of dark blood running from one nostril and the corners of his mouth and swollen eyes, dripping onto his now-bare chest.  
  
"But I have one." McCafferty laughed chillingly. "Tormenting you and your lovely wife." Slamming his fist into Menke's stomach, he smirked. "Its fun!"  
  
Menke shook his head slowly. "You screwed up this time." He mumbled. "My friend...the police...they'll be looking for me..." A second punch doubled him over, but he continued, his voice hoarse. "You messed up."  
  
"I don't think so." McCafferty chuckled dangerously. "Not when you're accused of the murder of your adulterous wife, Demi Strep."  
  
To Menke, it felt as if something cold and slimy had twisted in his stomach. "What do you mean?" He asked falteringly, fear surging through him. "How the hell do you expect to prove it?"  
  
"Let me elaborate..." McCafferty paced calmly back and forth waving his hands in mild gestures. "Menke Strep, dancer and actor, found out his wife was having an affair and ordered a hitman to kill her during one of his performances so he had an alibi...but, here's the fun part, the wrong sister got in the way..."  
  
"You bastard!" Menke stared up at him, disgusted. "You sick, twisted bastard!"  
  
Smiling politely, McCafferty spread his hands in a shrug. "We haven't even reached the best part yet," He continued pleasantly. "On discovering your wife's whereabouts – in McCafferty's country residence – you went there and raped her repeatedly before murdering her."  
  
"You'll never..."  
  
"Get away with it?" The copper-haired Irishman softly chuckled. "My darlin' fella, I already have. Your suicide will conclude a disgustin' and messy case."  
  
"How'd'you expect people to believe that Demi was cheating on me?" Menke snarled savagely, his eyes blazing. "She has something called taste..."  
  
Smiling his chilling smile, McCafferty softly asked. "Is that so?"  
  
Pulling out a remote control from his pocket, he pointed it at a panel on the bare walls. The panel slid aside, revealing a television monitor to Menke, upon which a tape of the monster and his precious Demi played.  
  
Her sobs echoed around the room, reverberating off the walls. Her wild cries of pleasure. Her apparent enjoyment of his touch.  
  
McCafferty hid a chilling smile. Demi had given up fighting by the time these tapes had been made and she couldn't help but be pleasured by his skilled body. No one could... male or female.  
  
"I see what you mean darlin'." Bending, he jerked Menke's face close to his and smiled icily. "She does have that little thing...taste..." Pausing, he stared into the sickened eyes of his victim, before savagely kissing the horrified actor. "And so do I." He added with a hungry growl, thrusting his hand between Menke's thighs. "Wanna play?" He smirked.  
  
Gagging, a burst of vomit erupted from Menke's lips as he cringed away in disgusted fear – the same kind of fear McCafferty had seen in Demi's eyes. And God, what a turn on _that_ was!  
  
McCafferty rose with a cool smile. "I'll come an' play later, darlin'." He purred, running a hand over Menke's head.  
  
Turning his rival's mind to quivering mush was so much fun, he mused, as he stepped towards the door.  
  
Pausing, he glanced at Menke and he could see the sick horror in his enemy's face as the beautiful white-skinned woman screamed and sobbed for him. For McCafferty. Not for Menke. Not for Munkustrap. Just for him.   
  
Macavity.  
  
Ah. Revenge was sweet.


	7. Together Again - Part 7

Squeezing her hand gently, Philip frowned again, as the nurse melted out of the door

Squeezing her hand gently, Philip frowned again, as the nurse melted out of the door. If he hadn't been here, where the hell had the git gone?   
  
Sighing, he turned his attention to Rina.  
  
Outside of the window, he heard the wail of a siren breaking the silence of the night, a light breeze rippling the curtains at the window.  
  
Rising, the actor went and closed the window, gazing out at the twinkling lights of the city. The city that had suddenly become a much more frightening place to live. A city where anything could happen and probably would.  
  
Sitting down on the edge of Rina's bed, he ran a hand through his short sandy hair with a low sigh.   
  
Rina was one of his best friends from the CATS cast along with Menke with her wild, outrageous personality and hyperactive attitude to life. The two of them were the only ones that had ever been able to actually wind Menke up during a show.  
  
It tore him apart to see her lying there, motionless, in a coma, wired up to all kinds of machines that didn't seem to being doing any good at all. More than anything, he wished he could just snap his fingers and make everything go back to the way it was only days before.  
  
But things were never that easy.   
  
And now, Menke had disappeared along with Demi. It didn't look like things could get any worse for him now.  
  
"How is she?" The voice from the door made him turn, hot tears burning in his eyes.  
  
Shrugging, unable to find the words to answer, he sagged down as Annie came around the bed and slipped her arms around him reassuringly, her head resting between his shoulder blades as the tears ran silently down his cheeks.  
  
"She'll be okay." Rubbing Annie's hands, Philip turned to face her slowly, finally finding his emotion-filled voice. "This is Rina we're talking about. Anyone else that beaten up would have lain down and died where they were...she managed to go for help ...she's stubborn...she'll live...she has to..."  
  
Moving to the doorway, he leaned wearily against the frame, pinching the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb with a low, shuddering sigh of despair.  
  
"Geezus, Annie...why did things have to go so wrong? Why did this happen to them, of all people? Menke...Demi...Rina...they're the best people in the world...they didn't deserve this at all."  
  
"I know." Touching what skin of Rina's face she could, her face contorted in anger. "I hope the bastard that did this rots in hell...even though that would be too good for him."  
  
"Agreed." Going to her side, they sat silently beside the bed, watching over the comatose body of their friend throughout the night, both worrying about the whereabouts and well being of the missing couple.  
  


*

  
  
He didn't move, his eyes fixed on the floor, his head lolling forward, catching the occasional glimpse of the feet of his tormentor as he lazily strode in circles around the kneeling prisoner.  
  
"You know, Menke," McCafferty spoke as he walked, his voice as calm and sensual as ever, his hands folded gravely behind his suited back. "You should have tamed that wife of yours some more...she's a wildcat...all nails and screaming..."  
  
"Shut up..." Grating between loosened teeth, Menke managed to raise his hate-filled eyes to the suave businessman, the pain almost unbearable as his head lolled forward again. "Shut the hell up..."  
  
"You don't want me to tell you what I have planned for your little lady?" Squatting down, McCafferty's smile was glacial. "You don't want to know how often I've had Demi screaming my name?"  
  
Pressing his eyes closed, Menke's face contorted in pain, his fists balling tighter, his knuckles white. The wire cable bit into his wrists, blood rippling down his hands, his fingers sticky and crusted with dark red.  
  
"What? No reply?" Cupping Menke's face, McCafferty tilted his chin up and regarded him clinically, his intense stare making the actor feel like some kind of pathetic lab rat being prepared for an experiment. It wasn't a good feeling.  
  
"What do you want me to say?" He mumbled weakly. His jaw was still agony. Broken, he guessed, from the beating he had received from McCafferty's two goons. Several ribs too, by the feel of it. Feeling had all but fled his hands, the wire cutting off his circulation as much as it was tearing into his flesh.  
  
Tracing the pad of his thumb across Menke's lips lazily, McCafferty smiled slightly. "I don't know." He murmured absently, catching his own lower lip between his teeth, a wickedly sexy smile on his face.  
  
"Oh, please." Menke turned his face away, trying to hide his disgust behind the mask of boredom he had developed. "Give me some credit for having some taste."  
  
Growling, McCafferty jabbed his fist upwards in the tiniest flick of a gesture that carried enough power to shatter Menke's nose, sending the actor tumbling over.  
  
On his side, he stared dully at his assailant's feet, ignoring the warm stream of blood running from his nose and mouth, matting his dirty mane.  
  
"Now, I'll have to punish your wife for your behaviour." Bending, the copper-haired villain, brushed a blood-crusted strand of hair back from Menke's cheek. "I thought you would have learned a lesson by now, darlin'...but apparently not..."  
  
Fighting back a wave of nausea, Menke twisted his face, the pain ripping through him with an intensity that matched his guilt.  
  
As much as Demi's betrayal hurt him, he didn't want her to get anymore hurt than she necessarily needed to. Especially not because of him.  
  
But it was too late now.  
  
The door slammed shut, the light flickering off, leaving him slumped on the floor, alone with only his thoughts of his wife being injured because of him and spreading puddle of blood for company.  
  


*

  
  
I hate being given this responsibility. I don't see why I should be depended on just so Macavity can get what he wants from both of them. And most of all, I don't know why I'm still involved with such a perverted sexual predator.  
  
I know what he can do. I've seen it. He caught me out before. Still does, when he's bored. It...amuses him to play with people, like he plays with me. I was just a simple businessman until he came along. I could have had a nice simple life, but no. McCafferty decided to use me. And not in a good way.  
  
He's an expert at manipulation. He knows that all of us depend on him to give us the satisfaction that no one else can. That we can't leave him because he's the only lover that'll be good enough for us.  
  
Lover.  
  
Maybe that's the wrong word.  
  
Just going through these videos, I know lover is the wrong word.  
  
He never stops hurting her, with his words, with his body. He did it before, but nothing as bad as this. There's only so much you can do as a feline...as a human, there's no limits to the injuries.  
  
The way he twists the truth into whatever he wants...the way he uses them against each other, playing with their emotions...their love must be incredible to have held them on for this long.  
  
And yet, he doesn't stop. Never even pauses. Goes from torturing one, to torturing the other without the slightest bit of conscience showing itself.  
  
It's horrifying.  
  
I want to get out of this bloody circle, but I know that one way or another, it would kill me. Like its slowly killing both of them.   
  
They're strong to have lasted this long, but I know I wouldn't be able to be half as strong as they are. I know that I'm going to be stuck like this forever.  
  
I only wish I had the nerve to help them. They don't deserve all of this. Maybe I could help them out in some way. Reassure them, but I'd be risking my own life and I just don't want to do that.  
  
But these videos...I have to show them to him. Her husband. I have to let him see what he believes is being done. How much it hurts. And it's not just them. It's their friends and family too. The redhead – she has to die. Die because of HIS plan. Because she's just a flaw. Because she's in the way.  
  
I can't let it happen.  
  


*

  
Rubbing his eyes wearily, Philip mumbled a yawn, ignoring the firm finger that was prodding his shoulder repeatedly, getting harder and harder with every poke.  
  
Finally the low spoken, exasperated hiss of "SIR!" in his ear stirred him enough to weakly open his sleepy brown eyes and shift his stiff neck, blinking in the sterile light that flooded the room.  
  
"Whu...?"  
  
"Are you Philip Tenant?" She whispered, a note of urgency in her voice. As he nodded, she gestured towards the door. "There's been a phonecall for you at the front desk, Sir. They said it was important..."  
  
Shaking himself awake, he tried to place himself, gradually recognising that he was still in Rina's hospital room and Annie was curled up in the seat under the window, her head resting on her forearm on the arm of the chair.  
  
"Did they say who was calling?" Pushing himself shakily to his feet, he followed the nurse into the hall, where another nurse was sitting at the desk, the upturned phone beside him.  
  
"No, sir."  
  
Immediately, Menke rose in his head, but when he lifted the phone to his ear, he knew instinctively that it wasn't going to be him.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Is this Philip Tenant?" The voice that rang through the phone was muffled, but had an undeniable accent – something like the old-fashioned gentlemen in the old black and white movies. Very proper and sophisticated...but this one had something else. A tone of frantic fear.  
  
"Yes...who is thi...?"  
  
The speaker interrupted hastily. "There's no time. I need to warn you not to trust the policewoman, Melinda Issy. She is not what she seems. She works for the men who attacked your friend."  
  
"What do yo..."  
  
"I can't say any more." There was a click as the phone was hung up, then the dull tone of the phone.  
  
Laying the receiver back down, Philip scratched his stubble-coated chin with marked confusion.   
  
Whoever that was, he sounded sincere and frightened enough to be telling the truth, but was it possible? Could that chief inspector woman be playing for the other side? If so, it would go a long way to explaining why nothing had been turned up on the villain. And why Menke had vanished after meeting her.  
  
Picking up the phone, he wondered briefly who it was that had called to tip him off about the woman's treachery.  
  


*

  
  
Pressing play on the video player, Phipps slid his mobile phone across the counter, a small smile playing across his lips.  
  
Supposedly going out of the lair to make a reservation for a restaurant on his mobile, he'd finally done what he'd been trying to find the nerve to do for months now.  
  
It was up to Tenant if he believed him. There was nothing more he could do for the time being. It wasn't much, he admitted, but at least it was something. It was better than letting another murder take place when he could have prevented it.  
  
Settling back to edit some more of the videos, he glanced at the phone again.  
  
Yep. Definitely a lot better.  
  


*

  
  
The metal was cold on her wrists. Made a great change compared to the prickling, hot sensations of her skin, the running bruises all over her body leaving her aching and burning up. And the delirium.  
  
"Now, now, poppet." His voice was a hot breath on her ear, left her shivering. "Unless you give me some sign that you're awake, we can't get this over with..."  
  
Wincing as strong fingers dug into the swollen, red flesh of her neck, her eyes slowly opened, filled with all the pain and hatred she had been carrying from the moment she was snatched.  
  
"That's better." He cooed approvingly, releasing her neck and dropping her, letting her sag in the chains, her weight falling on her chaffed, bloody wrists, blood running down her bare body in swirling ripples.  
  
Her eyes never left him as he made his way across the small stone room to a box on the table, opening it and gazing ponderously at the contents before turning back to the chained girl.  
  
His eyes swept over her body. "I think we're going to have some fun today, you know, Demi." He remarked, lifting what looked like a cat-o-nine-tails out of the box, a cruel smile of anticipation crossing his face.  
  
"Go screw yourself." She rasped, her mouth bone dry from fear and thirst.  
  
Trailing the whip around her neck, he tilted her chin, forcing her to look at him. "I would do that, you know I would, petal." He purred, his sharp thumbnail sinking into the flesh of her lip, marring the near-perfect skin of her face for the first time. "I would love to have a lover as good as me, but I'm afraid that's impossible...so it looks like I have to have my fun with you."  
  
"Lucky me." She narrowed her cat-like eyes at him.  
  
"Indeed." He smiled sweetly at her, his fingers flexing around the handle of the whip, his eyes never leaving hers as his intentions became clear.  
  
Bracing herself, she couldn't withhold a scream as he jerked the whip down, the jagged tips snapping around her body, ripping runnels in her flesh as he released her body, the pull of her skin tearing deeper cuts as she sank down.  
  
"You know," He mused, licking a trace of blood off the whip. "This isn't much fun anymore...not really. How about I tell you what I did to your sister? The pretty, fiery, red-haired one..."  
  
"Rina?" Through eyes blurred with tears, she forced herself to look at him, the stinging pain of the whip spreading across her bare back.  
  
Leaning against the wall beside her, he nodded.   
  
"How old is she? Twenty? Twenty one?" Shrugging, he swept the whip out, catching the back of her thigh. "No matter. It's a shame, you see, but I'm going to have to kill her. She interferes with my plans."  
  
"She's not dead?" For once, Demi felt a swell of hope. If Rina had survived, maybe she had got to Menke in time to tell him what happened...before he...NO! Menke couldn't be dead. She wouldn't let him be!  
  
Breaking through her thoughts, he chuckled. "No, Demi, she not dead...yet..." The whip caressed her spine cruelly. "But she will be soon. I'm going to give an order to kill her. Isn't that nice? I tell you before I bother. I'm so courteous."  
  
"Please...Don't kill her." Demi grimaced as the whip head's snapped over her stomach, tears running unnoticed down her cheeks. "I...I'll stay with you...just don't kill her...I..." Faltering off, she lowered her head. "I'll do anything...just let her be..."  
  
"Sorry, darlin', but you'll be doin' anythin' I want anyway..." McCafferty purred in her ear, his tongue flicking her lobe. "I need her out of the way. Nothing personal, to be sure, but I can't have my plans ruined by some chit who refused to die..."  
  
Ignoring Demi's sob of despair, he stepped into the hall, leaving the door open and let Demi see him pick up the phone, dialling the number he needed quickly, a cruel smile crossing his lips as he spoke.  
  
"That's right, Missy, darlin'...tonight...and be as quick about it as you can...adore ya, pet." Hanging up, he turned to his prisoner, her shuddering sobs arousing him as much as the fear often did.  
  
"You bastard...you bastard...you bastard..." From that moment, he never heard her say any other words, but he didn't care.   
  
It was still fun.   
  
Mental torture.   
  
Torture of the best kind.  
  


*

  
  
Head aching much? Ow is a good word to describe this feeling. And then we add the darkness and the bloody annoying beep- beep-beep of that bleeding machine. I tell ya, if I could move or talk or anything, I would make sure that thing was gone. Or off. Or muted. Or anything as long as I didn't have to deal with the beep-beep-beep.  
  
I want to open my eyes, but some twat – I think that professionally, they're called Doctors – put some kind of bandages across my eyes.  
  
Helpful...when I do wake up, they won't be able to see cos I have great big bits of cloth over my face. And they wonder why I'm just lying here...the only thing I can move is my eyes and now I can't even do that cos of the blimmin' bandages.   
  
Still, least I know I'm alive. Sore. Tired. Playing the Mummy. But alive.   
  
Alive is good.  
  
Now, I can help Demi more.  
  
Or at least, I will be able to if some git gets these bandages OFF me!  
  


*

  
  
  
I heard the door open, but I couldn't move. Didn't have the strength or the guts to do it any more. He'd left me lying on my side and that's just how he found me as well. He thinks it's hilarious, being a sick, twisted bastard.  
  
What I wouldn't pay to wrap my hands around that neck and squeeze...but I can't. I can barely even move anymore, let alone lift my head.  
  
He thinks that's priceless as well.  
  
He likes watching videos of him and Demi together with me. Likes to watch me for any kind of reaction to him screwing my wife. What does he expect? Me to jump up and dance and say 'How amusing! My wife's a filthy whore.'? I don't think so.  
  
I thought he was bad as a cat, but he's worse now. So much worse. And...damnit...he's sexy as well. He knows it. He's one of those men that appeal to everyone sexually, whether they're gay, straight or whatever. And he knows how to use it.  
  
The way he prowls around the cell...around me...it makes me dread what's in store. No qualms. He's the kind of guy who would do anything to anyone and get away with it scot-free without a care in the world.   
  
And I know this makes him even more dangerous.  
  
The way he keeps leering over me, making all kinds of subtle suggestions...it's enough to make me sick to the stomach, but then there's that dangerous appeal. The kind that arouses all my animal instincts.  
  
I hate the bastard! I hate the way he makes me feel about myself...about my wife...about him...about everything!  
  


*

  
  
Pushing the door open nervously, he glanced around. Seeing none of the other agents about, he quickly stepped into the room, flicking the light on, one hand instinctively rising to shield his eyes from the harsh brilliance, the other lowering the bag he carried to the floor.  
  
"Bugger off." A weak voice mumbled, full of pain and despair. The voice of someone who had completely given up all hope.  
  
"Demeter?"  
  
The moment those tear-filled gold eyes rose to his, full of crushed hopes and misery, he felt as if he'd been torn apart. His eyes took in the rest of her defiled, beaten body and he wanted to tear Macavity's heart out.  
  
Approaching her slowly, he winced as she cowered away, afraid that he was going to hurt her...which wasn't a completely surprising concept, looking at what she'd been going through in the last few days.  
  
"Don't be afraid." He whispered gently, lifting his hands and undoing the ropes and manacles around her bone thin wrists, carefully supporting her as she slumped free of the bonds that had held her half-standing for hours now, her legs too weak to hold her upright any longer.  
  
Cradling her gently, he stared at her, searching for some reaction, which came when she launched herself upwards, tearing her nails weakly into his face.  
  
But she was too weak to even manage that, falling back with a hollow sob.  
  
"You killed him!" She raised her trembling hands, covering her face, as Phipps gently stroked her hair. "You killed my husband...my sister...my life...it was your fault...your fault..."  
  
"No, Dem," Shaking his head, his lips close to her ear, he spoke softly. "That's not true...they're not dead...neither of them are dead..."  
  
"What?" Her eyes – suddenly full of hope – swivelled towards him, gleaming between her thin fingers. "You're not lying?"  
  
"Trust me, Dem...but now, you need to eat...get your strength back..." Listing some pieces of food out the bag, he fed her, slipping tiny scraps between her swollen lips, helping her get it down, tears of gratitude running down her battered face.  
  
"Why are you doing this?" She whispered weakly, as he lifted some water to her lips, trickling it over her tongue.  
  
Shrugging, he smiled gently. "I don't like to see people getting hurt...I only wish I could do more."  
  
"Menke...?" She left her question unasked, her eyes closing as she swallowed painfully, her first drink in days.  
  
"He's been beaten, but he's doing okay. He'll be better if he knows you are..." He glanced towards the door. "But you can't let on that you know...you have to pretend you haven't heard anything about him."  
  
Nodding, she slowly swallowed some more of the refreshingly cool water, finally opening her eyes, a minuscule smile of appreciation edging around the scabbed corners of her lips. "Thank you."  
  
"My, my," A snide voice interrupted. "Isn't this a nice scene to behold?"  
  
Phipps stiffened, a shudder of fear scooting down his spine. Demi's grip on his arm tightened, the terror returning to her eyes.  
  
"I thought you might like her with some more energy, sir." Phipps spoke softly, loosening his grip on Demi's ice-cold hand. "It can't be very much fun for you if she keeps passing out."  
  
"How considerate, Phipps, darlin'." The sardonic curl of McCafferty's lips told Phipps that his master didn't believe a word he was saying.   
  
A fact that was emphasised when the Irishman's powerful hand locked around the back of the businessman's neck, pulling him to his feet.  
  
Kicking the bag of food out of the cell, McCafferty prodded the cowering Demi with his foot, chuckling cruelly as she hunched over a small scrap of bread like an animal. "That's right, ducky." He propelled Phipps towards the door. "You eat up. I've got some... business to take care of."  
  
  


*

  
  
He's alive! My Menke! Alive!  
  
McCafferty was lying! I knew it all along! Menke couldn't have been dead! I would have known about it if he was and he's not! He's alive! So's Rina! We're all alive! He hasn't killed any of us!  
  
When that bastard showed up and dragged the other guy away, it was all I could do not to jump to my feet and start singing...at least, I would have if I could stand.   
  
I hope the other guy didn't get into too much trouble though. He's the only person who has done anything even kind of nice to me. The way he untied me...gave me something to eat...something to drink...told me what I knew was true...I hope he's okay.   
  
I really do.  
  


*

  
  
The next blow caught his solar plexus, all the air rushing out of his lungs in one long gasp, doubling him over with a grunt of pain.   
  
Blood gurgled in his throat as his jaw connected with a vicious fist, several teeth cracking off their roots, leaving bloody stumps, a new burst of crimson erupting from between his lips.  
  
"What did you think you were doin', darlin'?"  
  
Sinking to his knees, the metallic taste of blood still warming his tongue, Phipps lowered his head with a painful wheeze. "I explained, sir." He forced his burst lips to co-operate and form the words, uncalled for tears brimming in his eyes.  
  
McCafferty tutted severely, pursing his lips with a low sigh. Going on one knee beside Phipps, he cruelly grabbed his agent'' jaw, squeezing the shattered bone as he huskily growled. "I told you to stay away from her. Like I told everyone. She's mine."  
  
"Yes, sir." Swallowing a sharp cry of pain, Phipps balled his swollen, crushed hands into fists, fighting the agony as best he could. "But..."  
  
"But?" Narrowing his dangerous green eyes, McCafferty's other hand snapped up, locking around the battered Phipps' bruised throat, squeezing hard enough for his victim's windpipe to crackle ominously, flecks of blood splattering on his uncaring hand with every one of Phipps' ragged pants. "Never say 'but' to me."  
  
Strands of bloody saliva drooled from Phipps' slack jaw, his chest pumping in a frantic search for air, his eyes bulging in their sockets. "Yes...sir..." He gagged, the skin of his face purpling.  
  
"Very good." Dropping his victim, McCafferty calmly wiped his hands on the back of Phipps' expensive jacket. "Now, my twisted little poof," Twisting his hand into Phipps' hair, he forced the wheezing businessman to look at him. "You know what'll happen if you dare to disobey my orders again." Rising, he released the fallen man's hair, savagely punctuating his words with a kick to his ribs. "Don't you?"  
  
With a weak nod, Phipps let himself slump forward with a muffled gurgle, a stream of crimson vomit erupting from his crushed mouth.  
  
Unable to lift his head, he sagged – prone – in the congealing pool of blood, moaning weakly.  
  
McCafferty gave a satisfied grunt, kicking him the crotch for final emphasis, then pivoted on heel and left the shuddering agent lying limply on the cold, stone floor in a puddle of his own blood, vomit and urine.  
  


*

  
  
That bastard. He's pushed it too far this time. I can't let him do this to anyone anymore and get away with it.  
  
Seeing that girl in that state was enough to make me do something really crazy, but when he turns on me like this. I don't care if he screwed me to keep me on side, but battering me definitely wasn't on the contract.  
  
Picking on the guy who has the most power in his empire after him was just the worst thing he could have done.   
  
Especially after I've managed to go and find myself a pair of the proverbial brass knackers. I don't care what he does to me anymore, as long as I can stop him from doing it to anyone else.  
  
Starting with the videos.  
  
Revenge is sweet, or so I've heard.  
  
Let's find out...  
  


*

  
  
"Mr Tenant?" Leaning out of Rina's room, he saw the nurse waving the phone at him and ran lightly over, picking it up. "Yup?"  
  
"Mr Tenant," The voice was calmer and firmer than it had been that morning. "Melinda Issy is on her way to the hospital now to complete her mission to 'remove' Rina, so I would suggest you take the necessary precautions to save your friends life."  
  
"Thank y..." There was the click again and Philip glanced into the ward where Rina lay, plans running through his head. Tossing the phone into his other hand, he hastily dug through his pockets, finding a business card with a familiar number on it.  
  
Dialling, he aloud himself a smile as he heard the familiar voice on the other end of the line. " 'Ello, mate. Got a job for you to do...hush hush and completely legit...get your 'arris over here A.S.A.P...matter of life and death...gotcha..."  
  
Hanging up, he slowly rubbed his hands together, a sigh of relief escaping him. "Bring it on." He murmured in anticipation.  
  


*

  
  
The wards were deserted, not a nurse in sight as she made her way imperiously along, badge firmly in hand.  
  
No one doubted her presence and she was confident that this was another crime she could add to her record of dirty deeds that she had successfully done for McCafferty without being caught.  
  
Pushing open the door, she smiled confidently. The higher the tally, the more Maca bed-time she would have. And she wasn't talking sleep here.  
  
Checking the clipboard at the end of the girl's bed along with her wristband and the name at the head of the bed, she nodded. It wouldn't be good practise to kill off the wrong woman.   
  
Glancing at the bandaged figure in the bed, her fingers slipped to the capsule in her pocket, her hand wrapping around the vial. The girl was still unconscious. This was going to be a cinch.  
  
Stepping around the bed, she looked at the young woman's unbandaged face as she lifted the small syringe out of her breast pocket, brushing back her golden hair as she inserted the needle into the vial, drawing the measured dose into the syringe.  
  
Bast had been clear.  
  
It had to be a very specific dosage. Enough to kill swiftly, but not enough to be traced in the bloodstream.  
  
Tapping the side of the syringe, she traced her finger along the tube of the IV to the intersection of the two tubes, uncapping the small opening and carefully sliding the needle in.  
  
Pushing the plunger down, she exhaled slowly, watching the clear liquid dispersing into the tube and joining the flow of antibiotics into the comatose woman's bloodstream.   
  
In a matter of minutes, she would no longer be a problem.  
  
Another job, well done.


	8. Together Again - Part 8

Her hand resting on the edge of the bed, Missy looked at her watch impatiently, the steady beep-beep-beep of the moniters starting to grate on her nerves

Her hand resting on the edge of the bed, Missy looked at her watch impatiently, the steady beep-beep-beep of the moniters starting to grate on her nerves.   
  
Glancing at the patient's face, she felt a shiver of fear, as the swollen eyes seemed to flicker, almost as if they were about to open. Moving a step away, she lifted her hand, her eyes never leaving the woman's still face.  
  
A shriek exploded from the police woman's mouth as a hand locked around her wrist and the dark eyes flicked open, staring accusingly up at her, the expression saying more than a thousand words could.  
  
Shaking the thin hand off, Missy backed towards the door, unable to tear her gaze away from Rina's blood-shot, pain-filled eyes.  
  
"Where do you think you're going?" A dangerous voice growled from behind her.  
  
Whipping around, the blonde agent stared in despair at the group of police that stood there, set expressions on their faces. Searching her wits for some reply, she pointed over at the half-conscious woman in the bed.  
  
"I came to visit her." She said lamely, weakly wondering why she hadn't been informed of the girl's return to consciousness.  
  
"Yeah right." The dull croak from the bed startled the agent, her carefully laid plans suddenly crumbling around her ears. "We know who you are. What you did. Why you are really here."  
  
"You...but you..." Pointing a trembling finger at Rina, she slowly shook her head. "You should be..."  
  
"Dead?" Philip put in from his position behind the group of police, as one of the undercover men stepped forward, reading Missy her rights, snapping cuffs around her wrists. "If you had noticed, you pumped that stuff into a closed off tube. Not a good idea if you're trying to poison someone."  
  
"Nice try, bitch." Rina spoke thickly through scabbed lips. "Next time, don't mess with my family."  
  
Casting a vicious glare at the young woman in the bed, Missy let herself be dragged away, leaving Rina and Philip alone in the room, Rina's drip being removed for closer examination.  
  
"You okay?" Sitting on the edge of the bed, he gazed down at her.  
  
With a slow, weak nod, she forced a painful smile up at him, a low groan of agony escaping her lips. "I'm okay." Her shaking hand found his, squeezing it feebly. "And at least I'm alive."  
  
"That you are, Rina." Cradling her hands between his, he smiled, tears welling in his eyes. "That you are."  
  


*

  
  
Slamming his fist viciously down on the massive desk-top, McCafferty's eyes blazed with unspoken, deadly fury, the fiery green orbs sending a shiver of fear through Tony Steward's body.  
  
"She failed?" He spoke softly, his body taut, tense. It was well renown that when he seemed to be at his calmest and most casual, that was when the boss was the greatest threat to his agents or enemies alike.  
  
Steward cleared his throat, taking a slow step backwards, towards the door. "Ye...yes, Sir." He replied falteringly. "The police were waiting for her and the word is that Bast's drug didn't work at all."  
  
"So the red-haired bitch is alive and well." Sinking into his seat, McCafferty propped his feet on the desk, steepling his fingers in front of him thoughtfully, long swathes of copper-red hair falling over his face. "What a shame I have so many alibis."  
  
"What do you want us to do, sir?" Steward's hand slid behind his back, groping for the door handle. "Do you want that we kill her?"  
  
Not lifting his head, McCafferty gazed up at his agent from beneath hooded brows, tapping his steepled forefingers against his chin pensively. "No." He finally replied. "Just leave her. I have other things to take care of."  
  
"Yes sir." Shakily twisting the door handle, the agent stared hopefully at his master. "Is there anything...?"  
  
McCafferty gestured him away with a wave of his hand. "Go."  
  
Jerking the door open, Tony ducked his head and bolted out of the room as fast as his legs would carry him.   
  
It wasn't that he was at all afraid of McCafferty.  
  
He was just terrified beyond comprehension.  


*

  
  
I don't know how long I've been here now. It could be days. It could be weeks. I just don't know. Every minute seems like an hour, time stretching on and on with no distractions but those videos, playing over and over again.  
  
Surprisingly, though, the telly has been off for a while now. The screens been blank whenever I've been conscious and Ronan...he's not been in for a good few hours at least, which is something, I s'pose.  
  
Damn. I just had to push my luck didn't I?  
  
The screen's all lit up nice, showing the usual bedroom...wait a minute...this isn't right at all. In this video, there's no bed, no beautiful, expensive-looking room, no Demi lying happily amid silken sheets.  
  
Instead, I can see a cell identical to mine.  
  
And Demi.  
  
Only, it's not the Demi of the usual videos. This is the Demeter that I found when the Jellicles raided Macavity's lair all that time ago: Battered, bloody, terrified.  
  
I know it's the first night – a fact that is emphasised when that copper-haired bastard strides into the room and attacks my beautiful, terrified wife. Then the volume increases and I hear his words clearly.  
  
"Sorry, pet. As of..." His voice was as low and dangerous as ever, with the horribly mocking note tinting it " Ten minutes ago, your precious husband is nothing more than a bloody smear in a wrecked car."  
  
My stomach twisted at those words. He was using me against her. He'd been playing with us, like the sadistic bastard he is, but in a far crueller way than even I had dared to try and imagine.   
  
What I wouldn't give to have the strength to face him down. I would love to beat the living crap out of him for what he's done to me, my wife, my sister-in-law and our normal, happy life.  
  
But there's something else...these new videos...I don't know why Macavity would show me them, but its making sense out of a lot of things.  
  
There's my beautiful Demi again. Only there's a stranger with her. A posh bloke. And he's unchaining her? Something's gone rotten in the state of Macavity's lair, I think. And whatever it is, it has to be good for me and my Demi.  
  
"You killed him!" Her words hit me like a fist. She really did believe that lying bastard. She believed I was dead! "You killed my husband...my sister...my life...it was your fault...your fault..."  
  
"No, Dem, That's not true...they're not dead...neither of them are dead..." I was intrigued by this chap. Here he was, telling my wife that everything Macavity had told her was a lie.   
  
Now, that was simply weird.  
  
But at least it gives me something to hang onto. Demi knows I'm alive and I know Demi's alive. We have some kind of ally somewhere in this hellhole, but I don't know if its going to be enough to get us out.  
  
I hope so.  
  
As if that isn't stating the obvious.  


*

  
  
"So, what's the buzz?" Rina tilted her head at her Doctor, her speech much clearer than it had been earlier that day. "Will I be able to play the piano when I get out here?"  
  
"I'm sure you will."  
  
Rina gave a painful giggle, her hands clenching into the sheets around her. "That's weird." She murmured to Philip. "I couldn't do it before."  
  
The Doctor glanced over at the dancer who was holding his patient's hand. "Miss Terre." The seriousness in his voice sent tingles of fear shooting through Rina's mind. "I think we should discuss something with you."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Your condition at present..."  
  
"Is bloody crap." Rina's vision swam, tears blurring everything in her line of site. "I don't think you really need to tell me that, do you?"  
  
"It is very serious." He acknowledged, gazing down at her with a clinical interest of a whacko scientist looking at a nice, fat lab rat. "But I'm completely certain that you will make a good recovery."  
  
"And I'll be back dancing in West End shows before the year is out." She whispered painfully, closing her eyes, twin tracks of tears running down her bruised cheeks. "A recovery means nothing. My life I knew is over. I can't go back."  
  
"That's a little drastic." The Doctor put in. "I mean, West End shows...you may have dreamed of..."  
  
"She's a dancer, you pillock." Philip scowled at the doctor. "She works in the current production of CATS in the West End and she's been in theatre longer than you would know." Squeezing her hand gently, he glared at the doctor once more. "You have no idea how bad this is for her."  
  
"And I didn't save her." Choking on a painful sob, she opened her eyes. "I let myself fall when I had to keep going...I couldn't help her..."  
  
"Sh, Rina, sh." Stroking her cheek, Philip shook his head vehemently. "You did as much as you could. You got Menke out of his car before it...it exploded. You saved Menke's life, Ri."  
  
Swallowing hard, she tilted her head with a frown. "Where is Menke? And Demi? What happened? Didn't they get 'em back?"  
  
"We don't know." Philip whispered, holding her hand against his cheek. "We were hoping maybe you could tell us what happened at the house...who did this to you and Demi. We need to know, Rina."  
  
Nodding slowly, she dampened her cracked lips, the tiny droplets of blood metallic on her tongue. "Get the police guys..." She whispered back forcefully, her eyes harsh. "I can tell you everything I know."  
  


*

  
  
The bastard's not happy. Not happy at all. His plot to kill the red-head failed. Oh my. I wonder who could be to blame for that. Not me, of course. I would never inform the police or anyone about my master's activities. Nuh-uh. Not at all.  
  
At least not with the intention of getting caught and put through the fires of Hell that Bast will, no doubt, be facing within the next half an hour.  
  
Since he's out of the way, maybe I'll finally be able to get some stuff done. The lair's deserted, with all his agents out on reconnaissance, trying to find any break in the chain around Demeter's sister.  
  
That gives me at least half an hour...maybe an hour if he's feeling particularly brutal.  
  
I better get on with it before he gets back.  


*

  
  
Ick.  
  
You know, once you've gotten passed the fear and the anger, disgust is what pretty much covers it…that and the crusty, dried-on, blackened scabs of blood and hideously black bruises that just won't fade away.  
  
But at least I can walk again.  
  
Kind of.  
  
Having no food in goodness knows how long didn't help, but now I've got some bread in my belly and I've drank something, I can stand without to much ceremony…and walking with a slight wobble is better than not walking at all, isn't it?  
  
And I have the fact that Menke is alive to keep me going. I just want him to open that door and take my hand and I know everything will be all right.   
  
At least, I wish it was that simple.  
  
I just hope that he's not hurt. I know what Macavity is capable of. I've seen and felt it first-hand and I know he could turn all our minds to mush if we let him. That's what he's been doing, but the trick is not to let him get to you.  
  
Which he had been doing until now.  
  
I should have remembered.   
  
Bombalurina went through all this when we were still felines and she warned me. She said not to drop my guard, not to believe a word the lying son of a bitch said, but in my fear and stupidity, I forgot.  
  
Not any more though.   
  
I don't care what he does to me, no matter how much he hurts me. He crushed me before, but he sure as hell isn't going to do it again. I'm tough enough to get through this with my sanity at least semi-intact.  
  
I just hope Menke is the same.  


*

  
  
"Who the hell are you?" Half-sitting, half-lying, Menke sprawled against the wall, his eyes focused on the figure standing in the doorway.  
  
Phipps spread his hands, showing that he was unarmed. His face was as battered as Menke's if not more so, pale blue eyes barely visible slits under the purpled swelling of his lids.  
  
"You saw the video." In the silence of the room, his rasping whisper echoed off the walls softly. "You can trust me."  
  
Menke narrowed his eyes painfully, indecision etched on what was left of his face. "I don't know." He breathed painfully. "Why would you want to do this?"  
  
A bitter laugh rippled from his throbbing lips, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. "I have my reasons." The Englishman murmured, walking towards Menke slowly, his eyes fixed on the floor.  
  
"Don't we all." The dancer could see the bloody stains that smeared the older man's shirt and the darkening of the skin below the white material, suggesting that he had received one mother of a beating. "What happened to you?"  
  
Phipps shrugged pensively, raising one hand to scrutinise his once-perfect nails. "I was Macavity's prime agent." He answered nonchalantly, a slight note of pride in his voice. "I was the best of the best, but that wasn't enough for that bastard."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"He started doing things that were unnecessary. The greatest criminal mind and all he could think about was you and your wife." Shaking his head, Phipps sighed. "Such a waste of such genius."  
  
"Ya think?" Menke growled impatiently. "What changed your mind?"  
  
Nodding towards the video, Phipps spoke softly. "That. Your wife. I had to tend her wounds and I saw what he had done to a totally innocent, normal young woman out of spite and hatred for you. I couldn't let him hurt either of you anymore, but I got…punished for my efforts."  
  
"Won't you get punished again now?"  
  
The elder man shrugged elaborately, a smile twitching at his lips. "Probably." He replied. "But at least I'll have the satisfaction of doing what I know is right and pissing the boss off before he gets to me." Meeting Menke's eyes, he murmured. "All I ask is that you trust me."  
  


*

  
  
Adjusting a dropper, Belinda whipped round as the door crashed inwards, practically torn off its hinges to reveal the silhouette of McCafferty standing in the frame, his long hair loose around his face.  
  
Seemingly examining a scalpel with cool, clinical interest, he didn't look at her as he spoke. "Missy failed."  
  
"Oh." Her back to the worktop, Bast's fingers frantically groped in the drawer behind her for some kind of weapon. Something to defend herself against him. Anything vaguely good for hitting someone with. "How did it happen?"  
  
"We did get one explanation." Stepping into the room, he laid the scalpel down on the small table, running his fingertips slowly across the chilly surface, his eyes never once rising to meet hers. "Would you like to hear it?"  
  
Fumbling through piles of scientific equipment – all of which was useless now – the Doctor stared frantically at him, her hand closing around what felt like some kind of wire cutters. "Wh-what?"  
  
From looking down at the scalpel, he raised his eyes to her, a tiny smile creeping onto the corners of his lips. "They say," He murmured, his voice so low she could barely hear him. "That your formula was at fault."  
  
"What?" Little less than a shriek of anger, she yelled at him, hoping her false bravado didn't look as pathetic as she felt. "That's impossible! I tested it! It worked! It worked ten times on the testers! How is it possible that it didn't work?"  
  
"Who can say?" Turning, he leaned against the table, the scalpel once again in his hands, running the blade over his left palm, he glanced at her. "Either way, I'm not amused by this. She was the only reliable witness and she still lives."  
  
A tremor of fear shot down her spine, her hands tightening around her weapon as she straightened up, swallowing hard. "Do you want me to kill her now?"  
  
With a soft little laugh, McCafferty shook his head. "I'm afraid its not that simple anymore, darlin'." He murmured, sounding almost regretful in a way. "She is fully conscious and has police protection all the time."  
  
"Then what…?" She didn't need to ask, slowly edging around the room, feigning disinterest and shifting various trays towards the shelves near the doors, her hands trembling uncontrollably.  
  
Without warning, he was behind her, his hands on her hips. Making his way across the smooth floor with less sound than a big cat, he grabbed her so suddenly that she let out a scream, her feeble weapon falling from her hand with a clatter.  
  
"I think you know what, love." He purred in her ear, his lips brushing lightly across the sensitive spot on her neck, a tremor running through her. He jerked her body back against his, one arm snaking around her waist and holding her in a vice-like grip.  
  
"Please…" Gasping as his other hand slid around her throat, the small blade held between the surface of her neck and his palm, she felt the tears in her eyes. "Please…I'll fix it…I can…"  
  
"I doubt that, pet."   
  
Unable to fight his physical dominance, the hot tears splashed down her cheeks, the knowledge that death was inevitable reducing the once-strong doctor to a hollow, weeping shell.  
  
"Now, now, what's this?" His finger brushed her cheek lightly, his hand never leaving her throat. "Crying?" He tutted with disapproval, shaking his head. "You know, Bast, even my little Demeter doesn't act like this."  
  
"Please…" Nothing else seemed right to say. Nothing could save her now and she knew it. And it was terrifying.  
  
"Hush." His low, husky voice was a light breath in her ear as he tilted her head back forcefully, her body tensing. Moving his hand up her throat, he traced the pulse-point with his fingertip. "Hush, darlin'."  
  
The icy sting of the cool metal against her unprotected skin lasted barely a moment before the blackness set in.  


*

  
  
Phipps sighed with hidden relief at Menke's subtle nod. He had successfully managed to disconnect the microphones, but the hidden cameras around the room still filmed every motion of himself and the actor.  
  
Dropping on his knees in front of the dancer, Phipps gave Menke a warning glance, his eyes directing the younger man's attention to the three cameras, a desperate look on his face. "Act disgusted." He whispered urgently, before covering Menke's lips in a kiss.  
  
Trying to pull back, the actor whimpered in shock, feeling a pair of arms sliding behind his back, to his hands.  
  
"Trust me." Phipps hissed sharply, brushing his lips against Menke's ear in what – to all intents and purposes – looked like a seduction. But the loosening of the wire on Menke's wrists gave him the explanation.  
  
Feigning a struggle, he thrust his shoulder against the older man's chest as Phipps demanded. "Give me your foot…quick…" Twisting his body, he yelped in pain as the agent grabbed his ankle and twisted, as if to stop him sliding away.  
  
The chill of metal against his foot inside of his trainers startled him. "What the…?"  
  
Phipps' covered the actor's mouth with his hurriedly, his hands still working at the wire, Menke's blood staining both of them as the circulation returned, sending spasms through the actor's numb fingertips.  
  
"You have a switchblade in your shoe." Phipps nuzzled at Menke's hair, whispering urgently to him. "Use the blade to break the lock. Your wife is in room 314, down the hall and is strong enough to walk."  
  
"Is there anything else I should know?" Menke growled, struggling again.  
  
Phipps drew back, regarding the dancer. "Would it help if I told you that you've got more chance of dying than escaping?"  
  
"At least you're honest." Menke grimaced. "Now, help me get this wire off."  
  


*

  
  
So she's dead.  
  
One less agent to worry about.  
  
It is a bit of a waste though, I can admit it. She was good. One of the top set of my agents, but after that screw up at the hospital, someone had to be punished personally and since I won't have the pleasure of finishing Missy, Bast was the next best thing.  
  
I keep on forgetting how messy blood-letting is. To shoot her or poison her or even strangle her would have been so much simpler, but its too late now.  
  
She can be a beautiful, bloody reminder to all my agents just who is in charge. Although I will miss having her fiery little body in my bed.  
  
Death does that to people, you know. Makes you think of sex in the most obscure and bizarre situations.   
  
I mean, standing in a puddle of cooling blood, my clothes dotted with drying drops of crimson…you wouldn't believe that could make you think of anything other than whether the shirt is dry-clean only…but it does…  
  
Now, which agent to choose to…take the pressure off me. Phipps needs to be punished, so no treats for him tonight. Steward is faithful, but beefy and tough…I think I want something fresh and tender…almost sounds like a slice of beef doesn't it?   
  
That's what my agents are.  
  
Simply animals.  
  
I own them all.  
  
But, wait a damn minute. I know the perfect little victim. All of the agents deserve some punishment for tonight, just to teach them a lesson about misbehaving, but I do have…other company. Perhaps its about time I showed my precious prisoner just how…dangerous I can be.  
  
Time to put someone well and truly in their place.  


*

  
  
With his chest pressing against mine like it is now, I can feel his ribs shifting and crackling with every breath. Several must be broken and his face is a myriad of bruises and badly inflamed skin.  
  
He's horribly injured, but you wouldn't think he was anything more than a little bruised because he just seems so cool and relaxed about it – or as cool and relaxed as you can be when you're held prisoner by a homicidal maniac.   
  
I've never seen such strength in a single person before.  
  
He really loves that girl. You can tell when you look at what's visible in his eyes. The green fire that burns there at the mention of her name…its incredible. The kind of love that everyone longs for but only the blessed few ever find.  
  
Having seen him now, I can freely admit that I'm jealous of her. Even with the mess his face is in now, it's still obvious that he is a very good-looking man. Not many look that good with blood crusting their eyes and hair, but he pulls it off.  
  
I shouldn't be thinking like this.   
  
I know one of the two of us is going to die soon. When McCafferty's involved, death always comes into play, but its up to me whether I die or he dies.  
  
That's a big responsibility…someone else's life being in my hands at the cost of my own. I can't let him die though. He has more to live for than I ever did.   
  
Plus it will only infuriate Macavity even more if his prized prisoner and wife escape. It would be worth it to see his face.  
  
Priceless.  
  
Like a life.  


*

  
  
The wire's slid off Menke's wrists painfully slowly, his cramped arms slowly pulling apart, the pain of scabs tearing making him wince as he separated his hands for the first time in days.  
  
Splashing some water over the cuts, Phipps made certain he blocked out all the cameras with his body, wincing as he took in the deep lacerations that scarred the younger man's thin wrists.  
  
"Sorry." He uttered, noticing the pain in the actor's green eyes. It wasn't surprising how pained his expression was. The cuts went almost to the bone. It was a miracle he hadn't bled to death before now.  
  
"I'm okay." Menke gritted between his teeth. "Its just the feeling has come back…" He winced again, his hands twitching. "The pain'll fade soon…"  
  
"Is that so?"  
  
Both men tensed at the chillingly familiar voice, Phipps' eyes meeting Menke's, the horror and stomach-lurching fear clearly visible.  
  
"Sir…"  
  
"Phipps." The tone in McCafferty's voice made Menke's skin crawl. "Get up, turn around and get the hell out of this room now." Dripping exaggerated sweetness, he added. "There's a good boy."  
  
Lacking the strength to refuse, the businessman stumbled hastily to his feet with a final helpless glance down at the Menke. "Sorry." He mumbled feebly, turning and racing out of the room.  


*

  
  
Outside the door, Phipps slumped down against the wall, a nauseous feeling rising in his stomach. He recognised the expression that had been plastered on McCafferty's cruel features far too well.  
  
"I'm sorry." He whispered, covering his head with his arms, wishing for the hundredth time that he had the strength to fight for the actor. "I'm sorry."  
  


*

  
  
This is not good.  
  
Definitely, two-hundred percent not good.  
  
Now I can see why everyone in this dump is so terrified of that evil son of a bitch. He does exactly what he wants to do to anyone and he always gets away with it.  
  
I know I'm weak from loss of blood, but if he comes anywhere near me, I swear I'll do what I can to kill him, tear him limb from limb if I have to.  
  
If I had the strength to.  
  
He went down on one knee, cupping my face in his hand and squeezing my jaw. The jaw he broke barely hours ago. Or was it days? I can't remember and I don't care, all I know is that it bloody hurts!  
  
There's something in him that thrives on pain. If anyone could get beyond it, the Macavity we all know and detest would crumble.  
  
But nothing can get passed it.  
  
He's evil and I can see it shining in his eyes.   
  
"I'm goin' to make you scream, just like your precious little Demi screams for me." He purred, forcing my face up, making me look into those deadly, brutal eyes. "I'm goin' to enjoy every minute, my darlin' boy."  
  
Diving forward, I smashed my skull off his, dropping him – half-conscious – to the floor. The problem with that technique is that I'm half-conscious too, but at least the door is still open…  
  


*

  
  
Shakily getting to his feet as fast as he could, the pain ripping through his body beyond any comprehension, Menke raced for the open door, his fear and anger spurring him on, oblivious to the shadow looming behind him.  
  
Like Demi, he just wasn't fast enough.  
  
Smashing the actor against the stone wall, McCafferty viciously kicked the door closed, one of his powerful hands twisting Menke's bloody wrist up between his shoulder blades until the bones crackled.  
  
"That," He growled softly in Menke's ear, thrusting his knee savagely up between the dancer's legs. "Was very, very stupid."  
  
Releasing the snapped wrist, he stood over the dark-haired man as he sagged heavily to the floor, a spurt of bloody vomit erupting from his swollen mouth, his low groan of agony grating on his broken ribs.  
  
"I thought you might say that." Raising one hand shakily, the South African swiped a tendril of blood off his chin, his broken left wrist clutched to his chest defensively, his legs pulled tightly up to his body.  
  
Green eyes gazed penetratingly down at him.  
  
"My, my." The copper-haired villain murmured, pacing calmly back and forth, seemingly oblivious to the throbbing swell on his forehead. "This is an…interesting situation, wouldn't you say?"  
  
"I think I would prefer to watch paint dry." Menke growled, blood-shot eyes blazing.  
  
McCafferty threw back his head with a chilling laugh. "Oh yes, " He sneered, "But that would be a measure of how boring and pathetic your life is without me." Squatting down, he cocked his head, regarding his dark-haired victim coolly. "You may have the looks, but without me, your life is worthless."  
  
"And now you start coming on to me?" Trying to mask his fear with disdain, Menke swallowed another flow of burning nausea.  
  
"Comin' on to ya?" McCafferty pursed his lips, his smooth brow furrowing with silent thought. "What makes you think that, my fine darlin'?" Viciously punching Menke across the face, he forced the half-conscious dancer onto his stomach, twisting his arm up his back again. His voice was a low whisper."Do you know what I'm going to do now?"  
  
Twisting and struggling as much as he could, Menke shuddered painfully, a wave of bile rising in his throat.  
  
Staring helplessly up at the leering face of McCafferty, the actor reeled in and out of consciousness weakly, searching for the strength to fight back. To fight what he knew McCafferty had been planning for a long time.  
  
There was no mistaking the cruel curl of his lips and the sadistic predatory gleam in his lustful, evil eyes.  
  
Menke knew exactly what McCafferty had planned for him.   
  
And he knew there was no escape.


	9. Together Again - Part 9

He just sits there, bloody and silent

He just sits there, bloody and silent. It's all kinda disappointing, really. I had hoped he would scream and cry as much as his precious little wife did, but I guess that I'll have to suffice with the single scream.  
  
Damn, did it feel good, knowing I had him and there was no escape, no refusal. He was mine and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. And he enjoyed it.  
  
In spite of the pain and humiliation, he's just like everyone else. It's there in the eyes, every single time.  
  
He looks just like a girl, just like his wife did the after the first time.  
  
Crouched in the corner, he does the rocking back and forward thing so well, his arms wrapped around his bloody legs. Those eyes of his are fixed on the floor, blank and empty, but for the pain.  
  
So, I go over to him. See him flinch. That's what the power does. Makes people scared of you, leaves you in control. It's something that feels so good, no one has been able to find a way to make it marketable. It's inside.  
  
I pat my little puppy on the head, his blood-crusted hair still remarkably soft, in spite of the beads of ichor sprinkled through it.  
  
Now. Now he cries.  
  
The rocking grows more and more frenetic, as I kneel and catch his chin in my hand, forcing him to look at me, meet my eyes. The tears break from those terrified green eyes, rolling silently down his cheeks, just calling to be licked away.  
  
"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" I stroke his thigh, give him a smile, feel him try to pull away, but there will never be any escape. Once someone has had my attention, never escape it.  
  
Demi learned that, Menke will too.  
  
"Please..." He whispers, jerking back against the wall.  
  
"Please what, darlin'?" A tremor goes through him, my hand sliding up his half-bare chest, the tattered remains of his t-shirt hanging from his muscular shoulder.  
  
"Let...let me go..."  
  
I can't accept that, so I give him a good, solid punch across the chin. It makes an impressive cracking noise. Almost as impressive of the sound of my nose breaking all those days ago.  
  
A spurt of blood runs from between his burst lips, his face turned from mine. He won't ask again. He'll be a fast learner, I can tell.  
  
"I'll be back for you later, darlin'" I tell him. He winces. He won't defy me or stand up to me now. Once someone is in my control, they never get away. Not even if they were second-in-command of the Jellicles.  
  
One last bloody kiss sets me on my way. I think that today is going to be a very good day after all.  


*

  
  
Oh God.  
  
I never knew it was possible. Never imagined anyone could feel as disgusting and dirty and used as I do now.  
  
Now, only now can I see why Demi was so broken when we found her. I'm heading towards the broken into tiny little pieces far faster than I want to. I just want to shatter and forget all about it, hide in the shelter of my happier memories.  
  
But I can't.   
  
He's coming back. He knows I know it. He knows that it puts the fear of God into me, more than anything else. In spite of the threats, the mocking, the...flirtation, I never imagined he would...could...  
  
I just want to curl up and die, cry, find a bath of acid and burn my skin off, get rid of his filthy, disgusting, painful touch. Get rid of the memories...the sensations. For the second time in as many lives, I think that jumping in front of a car will be good, right about now.  
  
Which is what he planned. He's smashed everything I was. I'm dirty, I'm worthless and I'm nothing. Nothing to anyone but him. He's the only one who gives a damn about my existence. I'm his plaything, his tormented toy and nothing else.  
  
I can barely move. Not just from the fear - although that is a minor reason - but from the pain. Gut-wrenching, blood-drawing, body-splitting agony. I've never felt anything remotely like it.  
  
But Demi has.  
  
And from the look in his eyes, that man that tried to help me...he has too.   
  
That man who tried to help me.  
  
He's been hurt, used, like me. He got through it, so did Demi, so I have to. He left that knife in my shoe. He left it for a reason and he knew he would be in trouble for helping me, but he did it.  
  
I have to get me and Demi out, for his sake, if no one else's. The knife, the loose wire on my wrists. It's all for that purpose, nothing more.  
  
I just have to ignore the pain and get to Demi's prison, then she can help me and we can get the hell out of this place.  
  
We have to.  


*

  
  
Stalking down the hall, McCafferty threw the door of the office open, the handle smashing against the wall, the ringing echoing down he hall, as Phipps raised puffy bruised eyes to his employer.  
  
"McCafferty, sir."   
  
He knew courtesy wasn't going to save him this time. He had defied the red-haired bastard one too many times and he knew he wouldn't live to see another day. It remained to be seen if it would be a quick or slow end.  
  
To a betting man, he knew the odds would be on the slow, painful, tortuous ending.  
  
"Hello, my darlin' fella." Standing in the doorway, McCafferty's copper hair swirled loosely around his face, his deep green eyes shadowed, his arms spread, palms resting against the doorframe. "Do ye have a moment to talk?"  
  
Shakily pushing a pile of forms aside, Phipps nodded, his mouth dry. "Of...of course, sir." He managed to say, his voice sounding surprisingly strong in his ears. "What can I help you with?"  
  
Pushing the door shut, the criminal mastermind turned his back on his employee, one hand caressing the wood, as his fingers wrapped around the key. There was a soft click as the door was locked, dark green eyes glancing over McCafferty's shoulder.  
  
"Tell me, Phipps." McCafferty pivoted, leaning back against the door, his head bowed, his eyes seeming to be fixed on his toe that he was twisting into the carpet. "Have I been such a bad employer?"  
  
Phipps mouth was bone dry. The familiar desire he felt for his boss was there. It was impossible to ignore, especially when McCafferty was dressed like he was on this particular day.  
  
Apparently he had changed after the Menke incident, his tight-fitting jeans replacing his suit, an unbuttoned forest-green shirt revealing the muscled expanse of his smooth chest. His hair was loose; hanging wildly passed his shoulders, giving him that dangerous, animalistic air.  
  
"You...you have treated me...well." Phipps forced himself to say, as the taller man straightened up, raising one hand to casually sweep his mane back from his face. "I am grateful, sir."  
  
"Your actions say otherwise." McCafferty's attention seemed to be anywhere but on Phipps, as he jammed his hands into his pockets, lazily wandering across the silent room, the atmosphere seeming to grow increasingly oppressive to the older man.  
  
Balling his hands into fists, a nervous sweat prickling his brow, Phipps cleared his throat anxiously. "I...I beg your pardon?"  
  
"Beg." McCafferty slowly turned to face the brunette, the barest suggestion of a smile coolly curling his lips. "I like that word." He took a step forward until his face was barely inches away from Phipps'. "Don't you?"  
  
"I...I had never really thought about it." Shuffling along the desk, the Englishman tried to put as much distance as possible between himself and the man who had become his Master. His hands fumbled over the surface of the desk, behind him, searching for a weapon.  
  
McCafferty seemed to be observing him. Phipps had the unnerving feeling of being a mouse, being played with and - frankly - it terrified him, chilling him to the bone.  
  
His hand stumbled upon a small letter-opener, his fingers closing around it, his pale blue eyes rising to meet McCafferty's uneasily.  
  
"Don't even think about it." The copper-haired monster whispered, moving closer, his hands rising to Phipps' shoulders and gliding lightly down his arms, in a caress that sent a shiver of despairing lust through him. "I don't like being disobeyed." McCafferty breathed icily, his lips close to Phipps' ear.  
  
In the blink of an eye, the Englishman was pinned - facedown - on the desk, one arm twisted viciously up between his shoulder blades. The feeble weapon slipped from the nerveless fingers of his other hand, clattering on the smooth surface of the desk.  
  
Clenching his teeth, determined not to scream, he pressed his eyes shut, feeling McCafferty's bare chest pressing against his back, tendrils of red hair falling over his throbbing cheeks.  
  
"Are you afraid, my darlin'?" McCafferty twisted the arm cruelly, his breath hot on the older man's neck.  
  
"Screw you." Phipps growled, tears of pain coursing from his closed eyes, the half-healed wounds on his face and body straining from the pressure the other man was putting on him.  
  
"That seems to be such a dramatic line for people to say to me." McCafferty sighed, as if bored. "They always say it." He ground his body against the other man's knowing where all the prime injuries were, how to inflict pain best. "Say somethin' new, darlin'. Say somethin' new for me."  
  
"You were a crap shag." He grated out.  
  
McCafferty nodded slowly, the dipping of his head sweeping his long hair over Phipps' face. "Well, that's definitely new." He admitted. He twisted the older man's arm again, felt it straining to breaking point. "But we both know it's not true, don't we?"  
  
Phipps swallowed a surge of pain. He knew McCafferty was horny. He always got so, especially after tormenting someone. Sadism turned the bastard on. Sadism, torture, death and punishment were his fetishes.  
  
"You wish."  
  
"You mean I have to prove it, again?" McCafferty feigned a note of disappointment. "I thought you were smarter than that, darlin'."  
  
Phipps bit down on his lip until he felt blood ticklishly running from the corner of his mouth. He had to make sure McCafferty spent a good long time with him, so that the prisoners had a chance to escape.  
  
As long as the man hadn't broken.  
  
That was the main thought that filled Phipps' head, as McCafferty smashed a fist against his temple, sending straight into the realm of unconsciousness, before dragging his inert body down to the soundproof, basement rooms for some...education.  


*

  
  
Pacing, Demi felt the urge to growl again. Despite being a human, being trapped like this unnerved her, made her fall back into her pre-human urges. How she longed for her claws, to rip his face apart.  
  
Slapping her palms against the wall, she whipped around, her eyes wandering the cell, as they did every day, searching for the tiniest sign of freedom, of escape, but – as always – she found none.  
  
The only possible way was an air vent located in the ceiling, but it was barely inches wide, which only made her feel all the more trapped.  
  
The rough surface of the floor grated against the bare soles of her feet, her body immune to the cold that always filled the cell. She hadn't seen a single face since McCafferty had dragged the dark-haired man out of her prison.  
  
She didn't know whether to be grateful or unnerved. The solitude was grinding on her, the lack of abuse, torment making her nervous of every sound she heard, every footstep in the hall, every tap in the pipes.  
  
Dropping into a squat, she stared at the floor numbly. Crossing her bare arms around her knees, her aching body was barely strong enough to hold her upright. Nibbling on the stale remains of the bread her 'friend' had given her, she winced, her stomach growling, her lips dry and cracked.  
  
Every part of her body ached. One ankle was swollen to triple the normal size, her eyes so bloated she could barely see through them. Her back – she knew – was criss-crossed with narrow slashes.   
  
McCafferty had a thing for whips.   
  
And a talent.  
  
Wincing, she rolled her shoulders, feeling the slim cuts on her back split, warm beads of blood trickling down the bare skin. Sooner or later, her whole body would just be one massive scabbed-over bruise.  
  
Now, she thought bitterly, that's a really attractive thought to hold onto.  
  
Outside, a sound made her jump, tilting her head warily. Something smacked against the outside of her door with enough violence to make it shudder. Immediately, she was on her feet, her hands balled into fists, ready for any attack that may be coming.  


*

  
  
Swallowing hard, Menke gritted his teeth, leaning heavily against the door as he stared at the number. Either he was about to find what he had been looking for or he was about to walk into a trap.  
  
His limp left arm hung uselessly at his side, blood crystallizing on the tips of his fingers, still oozing from the deep gouges in his wrists, remnants of the memory of the wire that had bound him for so long.  
  
Pulling the latch, his shaking hand twisted the handle of the door, his fingers still curled painfully around the small - yet deadly - switchblade. Pushing the door open, he squinted in the bright light of the cell, his eyes settling on a slight figure.  
  
Her body was stooped in a defensive position, rocking on the balls of her feet, her hands curled into neat little fists. Deep streaks of red darkened her pale skin, her blood-matted hair hanging wildly over her battered face, her split lips curled back from her teeth.  
  
Meeting her fear-filled eyes, he gave a gasping sob, stumbling into the room, with a whisper of, "Oh, Demi."  
  
Her golden eyes widened, her hands shakily rising to her face, a flood of tears running down her scabbed cheeks. "Menke?" She weakly whispered. "Is it really you?"  
  
Staggering to her, he pulled her into his arms, his tears splashing down onto her thick hair, as her arms twined desperately round his waist. "God, Demi, I can't believe it. I can't believe it."  
  
Clinging to him, she nodded weakly. "How did...how did you find me?" She whispered shakily, staring up at him.  
  
"I'll tell you later." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "But first, we have to get the hell out of here."  


*

  
  
Edging through another of the dark rooms, the couple exchanged nervous glances as they pulled the new door open, revealing a hall that was as dark and devoid of life as every other hall they had passed through.  
  
Stepping slowly out into the dimly lit hallway, Menke carefully draped an arm around Demi's slim shoulders, her own arm around his waist.  
  
Both of them were as battered as one another, their faces bruised, crusted with deep scars and swollen almost beyond recognition. Both limped heavily, using one another to support their own weight.  
  
Menke's lower half was still encased in filthy, ichor-stained blue jeans. His torso was blackened, mould-coloured bruises tainting the patches of his tanned skin that weren't freshly beaten.  
  
Like Demi, his shoulders were marred by bruises imprinted by vicious fingers, half-crescents of scabs from bites scoring the soft, bruised flesh. Knees and fist marks were scattered on their bodies.  
  
Clad in the tattered remains of Menke's shirt, Demi rested her head against his shoulder, reveling in the feeling of being near him again. She could see he was in pain, but he pretended not to be.  
  
"Which way?" She asked, feeling him falter against her.  
  
"I think that way." Pausing, he tried to recover his breath, his ribs aching. The metallic taste of blood rose to his mouth with every pained breath he exhaled, his snapped nails sinking into his palms as he tried to fight down another swell of pain.  
  
Clamping his jaws shut, he blinked several times, his pain-fogged eyes stinging with the burning sensation of tears that were threatening to fall.  
  
"Do you want to stop for a minute?" Demi reached up, touching his cheek gently. She could see the pain in his face, despite his attempts.   
  
He gave her a weak half-grin, his legs going shaky under him. "I...I'm okay." He managed to grit out, between his clenched teeth.  
  
"Liar." She tried to help him to sit, but he forced himself to remain upright, leaning against the wall heavily, his free arm pressed against his aching ribcage tightly.  
  
"We don't have time." He pulled her close, his arm tight around her body. "We have to get out of here. Now. Before he finds out we're gone." Inclining his head down the hall, he half-walked, half-limped forward, pulling her with him.  
  
"I know." Gritting her teeth, she ignored the ripple of pain in her legs, putting all her effort into holding him upright. He was noticeably more hurt than she was, his limp far more pronounced.  
  
He flashed her a taut smile, a bead of blood forming at the corner of his mouth and trickling down his chin. "You still love me when I look like Bruce Lee's punchbag? I'm impressed, sweetheart."  
  
"Hey, like I could get anyone else looking like this?" She teased, butting her head lightly against his chin.  
  
"Don't flatter yourself." Rubbing his jaw against her temple as best he could without hurting both of them, he gave her a crooked grin, his emerald eyes barely slits. "I missed you so much, Dem."  
  
"We can get to reminiscing later, Menke." She returned his weak smile. "But we do have to get out of here before...you know..."  
  
Menke stiffened, the muscle in his jaw twitching, a surge of sickened feelings surging through him. "Yeah," He muttered. "Before he gets us."  
  
"And I want to see Starlight Express again." Demi whispered, a trace of her old sense of humour glinting in her half-closed eyes.  
  
Menke looked down at her, a tingle of pride filling him. "You think I wanna get out of here to see that again?" He growled softly. "Dammit, Dem, if you wanna be like that, I'll take you back to your cell."  
  
"Okay, okay." Giving him a wry smile, she nodded. "I'll behave...and force myself to go and see you prance around like a girl again."  
  
"Sounds fair." He agreed.  
  
A silence fell on them, as they gathered what strength and resolve they had left, staggering through the labyrinthine passages of the underworld of McCafferty's secret lair. There was no other way, they both knew. They had to get out.  
  
Sticking to the shadows, they clung to one another, knowing that if they were separated, there was no chance for either of them.   
  
It was a choice of death or escape.  
  
And, at this stage, neither of them were entirely certain which it would be.  


*

  
  
Licking crimson droplets from his fingertips, McCafferty lazily kicked the door shut, wiping his sweat-soaked palms down on the tattered shirt in his hand.   
  
"Well," He remarked to himself, discarding the scraps of the shirt. "That was certainly stimulating." A puddle of red started to creep under the door, marring the dull grey of the floor. McCafferty grinned wickedly. "Bloody good fun."  
  
Prowling down the dim hall, he frowned. There was something odd. Something felt distinctly wrong.  
  
Rounding a corner, his jaw locked, a tic of fury twitching above his eyes, as he practically tripped over the inert body of Ghengis. The bruise on his temple indicated that he hadn't merely fainted, the whites of his eyes visible beneath his half-closed lids.  
  
Squatting, McCafferty narrowed icy green eyes, rolling the unconscious man onto his back and grabbing the front of his shirt. Jerking him upright, the copper-haired man backhanded his employee repeatedly until Ghengis winced and tried to pull away.  
  
"Mornin' darlin'. Got a nasty bump there." McCafferty smiled chillingly, as Ghengis cringed away. His eyes were dark. "Care to tell me what ye were doin' lyin' down on the job, me friend?"  
  
One hand rose to touch the swelling bump on his temple, Genghis amber eyes widening with fear at the deadly expression in McCafferty's eyes. "Something...came from behind. It hit me."  
  
"Is that so?"  
  
Genghis nodded, trying to rise. The red head slammed his hand on the centre of the smaller man's chest with enough force to flatten him to the floor. "I don't know who it was, Sir, I swear."  
  
McCafferty rocked back on his heels, a thoughtful look in his eyes. "And I would bet that every other agent on this level will say exactly the same thing." He grinned wickedly. "I know Phipps certainly denied everything."  
  
"Ph...Phipps, sir?"  
  
Rising smoothly, McCafferty nodded. "Poor eejit decided to play the hero." He sighed, shaking his head in mock-despair. "Then he decided to lie to me." The smile on his lips was one of sheer malevolence. "He had to be punished."  
  
A shudder of fear shot down Ghengis' spine. Sure, he had thoughts Phipps was an ass-kissing little snot, but he didn't deserve to be at the receiving end of one of the boss' punishment rituals.  
  
"I...I'll go and see what's going on, Sir." Ghengis suggested nervously, struggling into a sitting position.  
  
"No." McCafferty's voice was icy, calm. "You'll come with me and we'll see if we can find out what has happened."  
  
Nodding reluctantly, both men got to their feet, the red-haired criminal's expression neutral, his mouth a tight line. The small, oriental man ducked his head, desperately trying not to show the fear he was clearly feeling.  
  
"Let's go." McCafferty nodded, Genghis falling into step a pace behind him, as they started through the corridors, only to find more agents in the same position as Ghengis had been in moments before.  
  
Reaching Menke's cell, he threw the door open, a surge of white-hot fury sending tremor through him. Tony Steward lay dazedly on the bloodstained floor, his body contorted in pain.  
  
"I'm guessin'," McCafferty remarked dryly. "That this means our prisoners have both escaped." All eyes looked away from him awkwardly and fearfully. "I take it that ye all agree with me, darlin's?"  
  
No reply was forthcoming, so he stormed out of the cell, leaving the group of dazed and pained agents staring fearfully after him.  
  
He was angry.  
  
Angrier than they could recall seeing him before. Angry enough for them all to take the initiative and flee as long as their employer was otherwise engaged in the hunting down of his prisoners.  
  
None of them wanted to get in his way. Anyone who crossed his path this day wouldn't live to tell the tale.  


*

  
  
"This isn't good." Menke clutched Demi's hand in his, his eyes flitting around the dark building, the massive, high crates surrounding them on all but one side, high windows far out of their reach.  
  
"You don't say." Demi whispered against his shoulder, a shiver running through her. "I think its safe to say we're in trouble."  
  
Holding her close, he gave her a reassuring kiss on the temple, his arms warm around her body. "We got this far." He reassured her, grimacing as bolts of pain lanced through his back and ribs. "We're gonna get out of here."  
  
"When you say it," She whispered weakly. "I find myself believing you."  
  
"In that case," He flashed a pain-filled grin at her. "It wasn't me that put the frying pan in the microwave."  
  
Demi's eyebrow rose. "Somehow I don't believe that." She remarked quietly, as they came to a crossroads in the piles of crates, with three choices of directions to go in, each looking as ominous as the other.  
  
"You never believe me when I want you to." His grip on her hand tightened, his casual tone growing slightly more forced, as they glanced quickly in both directions, trying to choose which way seemed best.  
  
"I know you too well." Demi winced, her ankle throbbing unbearably, the ache spreading through her body. She forced herself to think of something else. Something beyond these walls. "Menke?" Her voice was hushed. "Is...is Rina okay?"  
  
Pausing, he glanced back at her, the desperate hope in her gold eyes sending a jolt of pain through him. "I think so, Dem." He gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze. "She was safe in hospital when I came here."  
  
Tears filled Demi's eyes. "I thought both of you were dead." She confided, her cheek damp against her husband's back. "He told me...he said you were both dead...he made me...I'm so sorry, Menke..."  
  
"I know." Drawing her alongside him, he stroked her cheek gently. "He tried to get rid of me...of Rina...it just shows how badly he does his work. We're alive and together and Rina is probably bugging all the nurses." He smiled. "See. We beat him."  
  
"I wish I could believe that." Reaching up, she took his face in her hands, rising on her toes to kiss his scabbed lips with her own.  
  
"Believe it and it just might come true, love." Menke slipped his arm around her waist, pressing his cheek to the top of her dirt-crusted mane. "He lied to us, so if we can't believe each other, who can we believe?"  
  
Demi laughed weakly, a coughing fit spasming through her, tiny beads of blood rising from her aching lungs. "You should have been a philosopher." She wheezed. "Too smart for the likes of me."  
  
"I'm a dancer." He hugged her reassuringly. "How smart can I be?"  
  
"Smart enough for me." Her smile made all his pain fade, knowing he had her back sending a burst of happiness through his battered body. "Unless involving frying pans and microwave ovens."  
  
But the lingering fear that they were still trapped, still imprisoned in the lair and in the mind of a madman. He had died so he could get to them once before. There was no way he would let them get away easily.  
  
No way he would let them get away at all.  
  
And that thought terrified him more than the thought of death, of more abuse, of anything. Knowing there was no escape. Ever.  


*

  
  
Sitting lazily on a girder, McCafferty watched them stumble through his maze. A cruel smile curled his lips.  
  
He hadn't intended to release them into his mini-labyrinth, but – watching them from high up here – it was amusing, seeing their desperate attempts at flight, like so many others had before.   
  
Many had entered the labyrinth, but none had walked away from it. It was his version of Theseus and the Minotaur. He simply waited - like the Minotaur - until his enemies came to him, lost and terrified.  
  
And then, he wiped them out.  
  
Simple really.  
  
The massive crates proved a wonderful material for building the maze, easy to shift and maneuver, so the maze was never the same more than once.  
  
And at ten feet tall, the crates were too high for the average person to climb.  
  
Particularly when the damn good-looking average person and his equally gorgeous wife have both had the living crap kicked out of them, almost every single day, for almost a week and a half.  
  
It was just a matter of time before the couple stumbled into the battle-square, the largest open area set in the middle of the maze of crates. That was where he waited, always waited for his victims, his enemies, his prey.  
  
When they got there...  
  
McCafferty allowed himself a lazy smile. he still had some tricks that would no doubt provide interesting reactions from the couple.  
  
At the moment, they were still holding together far too well. They needed to be shaken up a bit, disturbed, weakened. Anything that would make tormenting them in the battle-square easier.   
  
Fighting enemies whose brains had been turned into quivering mush was mush more effortless than fighting two people who knew they could completely depend on each other's support.  
  
The maze wasn't just about breaking them by getting them lost and desperate for escape. It was all about manipulating the human weakness, turning it against them, using their fears and hurts to make them even weaker.  
  
That was something - McCafferty noted dryly - he was a veritable expert at. That, torture, murder: all the good things in life.  
  
Pushing his loose hair back from his eyes, he followed the tiny figures, as the couple continued to wind - in circles - through the dark maze, clinging to one another like a pair of lost children.  
  
Slowly rising, he made his way silently along the girder, to where one of his little...gifts for the couple was waiting.   
  
As soon as they were in position, they were going to see what lay in store for them and they would break, just as so many had before.  
  
No matter what the others said, nothing could bring them back, once they had been shattered.  
  
This was going to prove very entertaining.  


*

  
  
"Menke."  
  
Her golden eyes flick around desperately, as if searching for something she just can't find. I remember she used to do this a lot and it always meant the same thing. The rest of them thought she was crazy, but she was never wrong.  
  
"Dem? You okay?"  
  
She shakes her head, backing against me. I can feel her shivering right down to her bones, a chilling sweat rising on her skin. I can almost see her with her ears pinned back, her tail between her legs, terrified.  
  
"He's here." She hisses, her grip tightening on my hand. "I know it." She stares at me, desperately. "I know it."  
  
There's nothing I can do. Nothing I can say. We're at his mercy and it tears me apart knowing what he's done to her. What he's done to both of us.   
  
What he can still do to us, unless we get the hell out of here.  
  
I turn to Demi, but she's seen something. She's looking up towards the ceiling, her mouth falling open in a scream.  


*

  
  
They didn't expect that.  
  
Now that was what I call a scream. It echoed off the walls for what seemed like hours and she held it on for so long, I was sure she'd have run out of breath.  
  
Mind you, it's not exactly what you expect to drop down onto you, from the ceiling, is it? I thought it would make an impression and I was definitely right. Good old Phipps was finally useful for one thing.  
  
His screams were almost as impressive as that bitch's. Although, there were a good deal more screams from him than I've heard from her. It's just a pity I'll have to get rid of those shoes. Can't get the bloodstains out of the suede.   
  
A tragic waste really.  
  
I liked those shoes.  
  
Still, time for a bit of fun.  
  
My little pets are nearing my battle zone, unaware what they are running into. Yes, they're running now. Phipps scared them enough to make them get their bruised little backsides in gear.  
  
I wonder...I wonder. Will they face me or will they run, like they did from his rank corpse. I don't know why they so fear a body. It is dead, gone, can't hurt them or play with their minds, as I can, but still they run.  
  
Instead of staying and facing a faceless body, hung like a slab of meat on that silver-tinted hook, they will have to face me.  
  
And in doing so, they face death.  


*

  
  
Pushing Demi behind him, Menke growled softly, fighting all urges to run. There was nowhere for them to go. It was over. They had reached the end of the line and there was nowhere else for them to turn.  
  
"Run rabbit, run rabbit, quick, quick, quick..." McCafferty emerged smoothly from the shadows without even seeming to move, his face masked by the darkness, but for his burning eyes. "What have I caught in my little trap?"  
  
"Ronan." Clinging to Menke, Demi gasped. "Ronan...please..."  
  
McCafferty tilted his head quizzically. "Ronan?" Shaking his head, red-gold hair swung in the light. "Wrong, little girl. I am Macavity and Macavity is all that I am and all that I ever will be."  
  
"You're insane!" Demi breathed with growing realisation, her body trembling. "You won't get away with this, Macavity."  
  
McCafferty flashed her a cruel grin. "Too late, Demeter." He purred, taking a slow step towards her, making her cower. "I have already gotten away with this. Nothing can stop me now." He paused, eyeing them speculatively. "But there is one choice."  
  
Suspicious, they backed away.  
  
"There's no escape," He examined his nails boredly. "But you have a choice. You can die slowly and painfully, torn apart like dear old Phippsy or..."  
  
Both stared at him, terrified.  
  
Instead of answering, he turned his attention away from them, one hand dipping into his pocket and fishing something out. A flash of moonlight glinted of the gleaming blade, the only light that seemed willing to near the dark monster.  
  
Sending shards of iridescent light splintering off into the depths of the shadows, he laughed softly, cruelly, waiting.  
  
"What?" Menke's trembling voice finally demanded softly.  
  
"Hmm?" McCafferty lazily looked over at him, tracing the blade of the knife across his palm hard enough to open a thin rime of crimson.  
  
"Or what?"  
  
"Ah!" Tossing his copper mane back from his face, McCafferty grinned wickedly, his teeth flashing in the darkness. "I thought you'd never ask." Taking a step into the dull light, he spread his hands in a shrug. "You dies slowly and painfully or," He cleared his throat. "You fight me. To the death."  
  
The couple stared at him in horror and despair. Even though they outnumbered him, there was no way they could fight, not in their conditions.  
  
"I'd say it was generous." He drawled lazily. "So what do you choose? Death or..." He smirked. "Death?" 


	10. Together Again - Part 10

Looking from the smirking face of his enemy, Menke cast a despairing glance in the direction of his wife, her fear and pain mirroring his own

Looking from the smirking face of his enemy, Menke cast a despairing glance in the direction of his wife, her fear and pain mirroring his own.  
  
He had fought Macavity before, many times. More times than he cared to remember. And each of those times, he had been at full strength, or as close to it as he could be.  
  
Beating the ginger feline had been a challenge. That much was obvious from the fact that the evil cat had been able to survive so many encounters. Encounters that left many of the Jellicle tribe licking their wounds for weeks.  
  
That was another factor Menke despised.  
  
At least, as Munkustrap, he had had some form of support, help from other toms if he got in trouble. It seldom happened, but when he needed them, it was a boost to at least know they were waiting in the wings, just in case.  
  
What he wouldn't give to have Tugger here with him, now. Despite hating the younger tom's attitude, the Maine coon was one of the best fighters in the tribe, although the flirty tom preferred to be famed for his free loving.  
  
Now, Menke was here. Alone, but for Demi, who was in as bad a state as him. Battered, bloodied, aching from his pounding head right down to his crushed, broken toes. And expected to stand up and fight a man in prime condition.  
  
When life dropped you in at the deep end, there was a non-refundable guarantee that there would be nothing to keep you afloat.  
  
This was just one of those 'deep-end' situations: Placed in a 'Fight or die' scenario after being physically tortured to breaking point, with a mind that was teetering precariously on the very brink of sanity and insanity, where one push from the flame-haired man before him could send him over.  
  
If it hadn't been such a desperate situation, Menke would have given in to the urge to fall to the floor in a heap and giggle maniacally until the men in white coats arrived to tie him up and put him back in his cell.  
  
But, for now, he was still sane. Still prepared to defend Demi to the death...or to the being-a-prisoner-and-toy-of-Macavity-for-eternity ending. Naturally, death would be the better option, but he would prefer to live happily ever after.  
  
And they say fairy stories don't happen.  
  
"Come on, darlin'" McCafferty's voice rudely broke into the other man's thoughts, tauntingly. "I don't have all day and there are far more...enjoyable things I would rather be doing than fighting the two of ye."  
  
Menke felt Demi's fingers curl around his, giving his hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. A surge of love rose in him. Forcing his head up, he turned deadly green eyes towards McCafferty and smiled a chilling smile. "All right, Ronan."  
  
McCafferty's jaw tightened at the use of the hated name. "Well, this is a surprise." He took a lazy step towards the dark-haired man. "All right, you say." He chuckled coolly. "All right. Let's see what kind of man you are..."  
  
"Don't underestimate me." Menke grit his teeth, mirroring McCafferty's step forward, his hands balled achingly.   
  
"How could I do that, darlin'?" McCafferty's sardonic, smug face was just begging to receive a punch and Menke was happy to oblige, the red-maned man's head snapping round. "That was a good starting note." He nodded, fingering his jaw.  
  
The dancer spread his hands in an expressive shrug. "As the song said," He replied quietly. Things can only get better."  


* * *

  
  
"Dem? Dem...whassa matter?" Philip raised his head from the edge of the mattress in concern, the sound of Rina's voice drawing him from sleep's snug embrace. "Dem! Stop! Don't go! Demi!"  
  
Standing shakily, he leaned over the girl, her bruised face contorted. She was in the throes of some kind of dream, tossing and writhing in spite of the casts and bandages that covered her slender body.  
  
"Rina?" Patting her cheek gently, a frown furrowed his brow. "C'mon, Rina, wake up...what is it? What's wrong?"  
  
Her eyes snapped open, startling him. "Ph...Philip?"  
  
"Yeah, Ri." Propping himself against the mattress, he gave her a smile. "You were having a dream. Are you okay?"  
  
Squinting at him, she nodded once. "Where's Demi?"  
  
Her fellow-dancer looked down at his hands guiltily. The police had thought it better that she didn't know how serious things had gotten, that both her sister and her brother-in-law were still missing and had been for over a week now.  
  
"I'm sure she's okay..." He replied awkwardly, evasively.  
  
Rina's brown eyes locked on his. "Philip." Her voice was hard, determined. "Tell me. What has happened. Where are they?"  
  
His face turned away, eyes fixed on a spot on the bare walls. "I don't know." He said softly, unhappily. The emotion trembled in his shaking voice. "No one knows. Someone...tried to kill Menke after they got you..."  
  
The muscles in Rina's jaw twitched as she tilted her head back on the pillows, her dark eyes closed. Tears broke from beneath her closed lids, trickling down her swollen cheeks to drip softly on the pillow.  
  
"Something...bad is happening." Struggling to form the words, her breathing grew harsher, ragged. "If someone doesn't do something..." She turned to him hopelessly. "They're going to die. Both of them."  
  
Philip tried to deny the words, but his own apprehension had been building, especially after Menke's disappearance. Why someone would target and actor-dancer and his wife was beyond his comprehension, but Rina was right.  
  
Something bad was happening.  
  
Worse than even he could imagine.  
  
"What can we do?" He asked softly.  
  
Her dark brown eyes opened, stared emptily up at the ceiling. "The police...what did they say about the description I gave them?"  
  
"They said the description matches a man they've been watching for some time, but they've never been able to prove he was guilty of any crime." Philip exhaled a long sigh. "He goes by the name of McCafferty..."  
  
"Ronan McCafferty?" He suddenly had her undivided attention.  
  
"How did you know?"  
  
A pained, hollow grin crossed her face. "Oh, I know him. Never met the guy, but he was a mate of Demi's. Was being the operative word." Pulling a face, she turned to her friend. "He tried it on with her. Apparently didn't take her answer very well. One of those alpha males with a 'No meaning yes' complex. I only found out after hearing her crying in the night. She said he was charming...she was drunk and almost gave in...and when she refused..." She trailed off implicitly.  
  
"He attacked her?" Philip's face paled.  
  
"He tried." Grimacing, she turned to face him fully. "You think we got ourselves a prime suspect here? He knew where we lived, he knew where Menke worked, he always was jealous of Menke, he was spurned by Demi...are we seeing a motive or two?"  
  
"But he had an alibi!"  
  
Rina gave a snort of disgust. "I'll bet all last years wages that he was the one who sent that bitch to kill me. If he can buy the cops, who's to say he can't buy other people off?" Her companion nodded slowly. "Call the police again. Tell them all this information and ask them why the hell I wasn't informed."  
  
"Ri, they met you when you were in a coma...even then, you scared the pants off them." He flashed her a grin, rising and walking to the door.  
  
Rina smirked. "As long as I scared the pants off the young, rich, good-looking ones, I'll be happy." Philip chuckled softly. "What? I'm not allowed to think dirty? What is this? A blimmin' church?"  
  
"I'll go and make some calls, Ri. Just stay calm and quiet and don't torment the student doctors...remember, I know what you're like, comatose or not." The only response he got was a single fingered salute from the fragile-looking red head tucked in the bed.  


* * *

  
  
Crashing down flat on his back on the hard floor, a mocking laugh rose - unbidden - from his lips, his green eyes glinting with devilish malevolence. A ripple of blood snaked from one nostril, staining his even, white teeth a sickening pink.  
  
Taking a step closer, standing over his fallen enemy, Menke couldn't help but shudder at the memories that chilling laughter raised, a shiver of disgust scooting down his spine, making him want to back pedal, as far away from the man as possible.  
  
"Now why didn't you fight like that before?" The Irishman sneered, leaning up on his elbows, making no attempt to get to his feet. Grinning scornfully up at Menke, he shook his head. "Ye didn't want to fight me, did ye?"  
  
"Shut up." Menke's eyes narrowed, his fists clenching and unclenching furiously, a knot of anger forming in his throat. "Shut up!"  
  
McCafferty smirked. "Tryin' to hide yer dark secret from the little woman, are ye?" He flashed a dark look at Demi, who stood opposite her husband, her gold eyes burning liquid fire. "Ye claim ye have such an honest relationship...yet ye keep this from her..."  
  
"Stop it." The tone of the South African's voice had lost its angry edge, pleading.   
  
"Menke?" Demi's eyes flicked to her husband's taut face. Something was shadowing those familiar green eyes, yet she didn't want to believe that McCafferty was telling the truth about him, to believe her husband had lied. "What's he talking about?"  
  
The dark haired man roughly kicked the grinning McCafferty with all his strength, catching him in the gut and doubling him over briefly. Panting, exhausted, Menke swayed on his feet. "You bastard."  
  
"That's me." McCafferty wheezed, shakily getting to his feet, his unnerving sneer never leaving his face. "Why bother telling your pretty wife what I did to you, when I could just tell you what I did to her...share and share alike, after all..."  
  
Blinking, shaking his head to clear the spots of darkness blurring the edge of his vision, the younger man focused on his enemy furiously, only to come straight in contact with a double punch from the ginger haired man, sending him reeling.  
  
Demi sprawled on the floor several paces away, her eyes half-closed, blood gushing from a freshly opened wound on her bruised temple. Raising his eyes weakly from her, Menke stared up at McCafferty.  
  
"Ye really should let me tell her what fun I had wi' ye, darlin'" The Irishman purred huskily, his voice raising nervous goosebumps all over the actor's body. He turned, leaving Menke half-kneeling, half-sitting dizzily on the floor. "Ye see sweetheart," He murmured, squatting over the fallen woman. "When yer husband's a better lay than you, there really is somethin' wrong..."  
  
A low moan ripped from Demi's throat, her eyes pressing shut, silent tears rolling down her cheeks, tainted pink by her blood. "M...McCafferty..." She breathed softly, her lips moving soundlessly.  
  
"What is it, darlin'?" McCafferty looked over at Menke, his eyes taunting the half-conscious, concussed dancer, then back at the wife. Lowering his head close to her mouth, he listened for her words.   
  
One of her hands weakly rose to his cheek. Then she spoke. "You," Her mouth brushed his ear lightly. "Are...dead!" Lunging forward, she sank her teeth into his strong neck, her nails tearing into his face.  
  
With a bellow of fury, he thrust his fist into her gut, the air expelled from her lungs in a gust, her body contorting in pain, but she'd bought enough time for Menke to recover himself and dive at McCafferty from behind, tackling him to the ground and twisting a hand behind his back.  
  
"There's me boy." McCafferty's wicked laughter rumbled through his body, not in the least intimidated by the practically snarling actor. The blood running from the gouges in his cheeks and throat only added to his own savage appearance. "So ye like to be on top, lover? Show me what ye've got..."  
  
"Shut the hell up!" The hand behind his back was twisted a little harder, but the shudder that passed through the actor's body, atop of his, suggested his words were finally starting to cut a bit too close.  
  
Chuckling, he tilted his head to grin at Demi. The woman was on her knees, eyes fixed on his face, filled with a hatred the likes of which he'd never seen before. "So, darlin', do ye feel betrayed? Knowin' that yer precious Menke let me play with him...mayhap he fought, but darlin', he loved it. He wanted it."  


* * *

  
  
He's just trying to get to me.   
  
He's using my thoughts and trying to twist them, trying to make me sound as depraved as him, trying to break me, to weaken me, to get Demi and me back in our cells so he can hurt us both all over again.  
  
He knows what to say...how to say it...and God knows, he makes me feel like he's right.  
  
Maybe he is.  
  
Maybe I did enjoy it.   
  
I can't tell wrong from right any more. Good from bad. Light from dark. Happy from sad. I just don't know and it scares me. This strangeness, this lack of control...the emptiness that I feel when he's around...nothing makes sense...  
  
He gets in your head, you see.  
  
He's turned the soft fluffy that me and Demi had into darkness. Nothing is right here. He makes us feel things we shouldn't and don't want to...convinces us we're wrong and he is telling us our true feelings.  
  
I hate him for that.  
  
I hate him for what he did to us: Taking me would have been bearable, but Demi...Rina...I hate him for that more than I imagined it was possible to hate anyone...then the abuse, the torture the pain...I never thought I could hate so much that it hurt, but I do.  
  
And I want.  
  
Want him.   
  
Sick as it sounds, he's wormed his way into my head, convinced me that I need him, have to have him, need the pain and the torment and all that he's done to me, just to balance things out with Demi, to know what she went through.  
  
To tell her it wasn't so bad.  
  
God knows I would be telling the blackest lies in the world if I said those words to her. If I even dared to speak them to my own reflection in the mirror, I would feel guilty for being such a damned liar!  
  
Why can't he leave us alone? Let us have some kind of peace? We died because of him and still, it wasn't enough!  
  
Why doesn't he even pretend to be afraid? Why doesn't he give us the dignity of not mocking us every time we knock him down? Why does he just lie there and laugh and taunt and make me want to rip his heart out?  
  
I would, you know.  
  
Only I don't think I could even break the skin. No strength, no energy, no life. For him, it must be like fighting two very pathetic-looking zombies.  
  
Any blows that we've managed to land have been lucky, chance, usually following the pair of us having a good, solid blow or twenty to the head. Mister professional street fighter never takes any time off, does he?  
  
And even if we do hurt him, still he hurts us more.  
  
His words are as harsh and cruel as brutally talented hands of his. With one word, he's broken both of us, but still we stand, even though there's nothing but hate left. Dagger after dagger of cruelty stabs at us.  
  
He knows every chink in our mental armour, he knows *exactly* what to say to hit us where it hurts and leave us bleeding, he knows how to take us down, but still he wants to play his sick mind games.  
  
He wants to take us down a bit at a time, make us watch each other weaken.  
  
I don't know if that makes me want to fight him more or just make me tear my guts out and make a noose for myself.  
  
All I know is that as long as I stand, I'm going to fight him, fight his words, not listen...anything that'll get me and Demi through this living hell...anything that leaves him dead...anything that gives us a thimbleful of peace in our lifetime.  
  
And they say dreams are for rookies.  


* * *

  
  
"What's going on? Did you tell them? Are they sending people? Are we getting some kind of junkfood on the menu?"  
  
Phillip shook his head with an indulgent smile. "Yes, they're sending people." He replied, sitting down in the chair next to the bed. "They're sending a couple of C.I.D people to talk to McCafferty and some plainclothes officers are doing recon around his facilities."  
  
"And they tell a dancer everything they're up to." She grinned weakly. "What is this world coming to?"  
  
His hand wrapped around hers, squeezing her uninjured fingers gently. "I'm sure Demi and Menke are okay." He murmured softly. "They're tough and as long as they have each other, they'll kick whatever asses they need to, to get here and visit you."  
  
Rina's eyes fell. "I know." Her voice was soft, barely a whisper. Her free hand smoothed the blanket that covered her from the ribs, down. "As much as I hate to admit it, I miss my dear old brother-in-law and his 4a.m. pranks...and I must have had one too many blows to the head..."  
  
"Menke is pretty addictive company." Philip agreed, with a fond smile.  
  
The red head's face rose, her brown eyes boring into his. "Do you think they'll find them?" Tears glistened in her eyes, threatening to fall, a lump forming suffocatingly in Philip's throat. "I need to know."  
  
"I hope so, Ri...the police...they're doing all they can..."  
  
"Can't they storm his buildings? Can't they arrest him? Stand him in front of a brick wall and use him for target practise? Can't they just bring them back to me?" Her shoulders shook agonisingly, her trembling hands rising to cover her face, burning tears streaming down her cheeks.  
  
Sitting alongside her, Philip gently took her in his arms. "I wish it was that easy...if this guy's as bad as you say...as they say...he's probably got a hundred places he could hide them...a hundred different places, miles away from his main buildings..."  
  
"You're about as reassuring and confidence-inspiring as a lemming on a cliff." She muttered against his chest.  
  
"Lemming?" Drawing back, the young dancer looked indignant. He had to stop her crying, stop her thinking too much about all the bad things that may have happened to her sibling, make her insult him more if it helped. "Now, why didn't you tell me I was like some heroic kind of animal...something strong..."  
  
"Like a gorilla?" She suggested.  
  
"Do they throw themselves off cliffs for no apparent reason?"  
  
A tiny smile quirked her pale lips. "Only if they saw you coming." She replied, a faint glimmer of mischief in her brown eyes.  
  
"Why do I put up with you?" Rolling his eyes, the dancer dropped back into the seat. "I really don't know why."  
  
Rina's shoulders rose in a shrug. "Could be that I got you that date with Annie." She remarked with a smile. "Or...it could just be my superior wit, brains, talent and stunningly good looks. I hear a lot of men find that attractive."  
  
"Nah," Philip smirked. "They just come to stare at the woman whose head has inflated to ten times the size of her body."  
  
Sticking her tongue cheekily out at him, the red head sank back against the mass of pillows wearily. Once again, her thoughts turned to Demi and Menke, her emotions dancing on the boundaries of complete hysteria.  
  
They would be okay, as usual. There was nothing they couldn't survive, she was sure. They would come back and everything would be back to normal, as if nothing had ever happened and they would live happily ever after.  
  
She didn't even want to dwell on the possibility of what would be happening to them, if she was looking to the pessimistic end of the scale.  
  
They were going to be back soon.  
  
They had to be.  


* * *

  
  
He knew he was getting weaker.  
  
Demi could probably tell too. She wasn't looking too tough herself.  
  
As for McCafferty...he was probably basking in the reality that Menke's mind was dissolving into a mushy puddle, his body following suite.  
  
An arm around her husband's waist, Demi glared bitterly at McCafferty. She was supporting much of Menke's weight, his body trembling, bathed in a sickeningly cold sweat, eyes glazed with fear and pain.  
  
"What's the matter, darlin'?" McCafferty lazily addressed Menke. His shirt was long gone, his corded muscles standing out like steel bands in his chest and arms, the spread of his bloody copper mane fanning on his shoulders. He had never looked more deadly.  
  
"Leave him alone." Demi snarled. She remembered this trick from her time with him...before. It was in this state that she had returned to the tribe, shattered and terrified, expecting Macavity to appear after every noise in the junkyard.  
  
The other members of the tribe had whispered about her, concerned and confused by her paranoia, her fear, her ability to inevitably predict when Macavity was about to plunge out of the darkness and cause havoc.  
  
Bombalurina would have been the same, if she'd let the bastard get to her, as much as Demeter had.   
  
But Bombalurina had ignored him, laughed in his face, mocked his prowess and had been beaten repeatedly for it...but, she had also escaped, got a clean break from him and was never bothered again.  
  
It was the lack of fear that helped her succeed, where Demeter failed. Fear was Macavity's aphrodisiac and, right now, the fear - sheer, unadulterated terror - was pouring off Menke in nigh visible waves.  
  
Whatever the bastard had done to her husband, she guessed it was easily as bad as anything she had been put through. Only she could bring him out of it, shatter the hold McCafferty's words had on him...  
  
"Come now, darlin'," Menke recoiled as McCafferty took a step towards them, his legs going out from beneath him, a shuddering sob ripping through his body. "Oh, sweet thing, what are ye cryin' for?"  
  
"I said leave him alone!" Taking the risk, leaving Menke's side, she threw herself at McCafferty - the monster who wore the face of her friend - scratching, biting, kicking, cursing, anything to get him away from her husband.  
  
McCafferty's hands locked around her wrists in a steely grip, his fierce green eyes meeting hers dangerously. "I don't think so, little one." His forehead cracked against hers with a hollow thump, her head snapping back, neck loose. "I'm wantin' some fun."  
  
Depositing her carelessly on the floor, safely unconscious, he strolled towards the cowering figure of Menke. "Now, lover...is that any way to be actin' in front of yer old pal?" He squatted, arms resting on knees, eyes fixed on Menke's.  
  
"Please..." Scooting backwards across the floor, hands raised in supplication, the dark-haired man's face was the image of terror itself.  
  
McCafferty's lips curved in a smirk. "Don't tell me you don't want me, lover...I know you do. I saw the way you looked at me...how much you wanted me to touch you...you wanted me to hurt you like that...don't deny it..."  
  
"No." His dark head shook in denial, his face lowered in humiliation.  
  
"Don't lie to yourself, Menke...remember what I did...remember the pain...remember how much you wanted more..."  
  
"NO!" Rocking back and forward frantically, Menke's actions reminded McCafferty absently of his wife's motion in that cell not so many days ago. One broken, but good-looking bed toy, coming right up.  
  
Bending close, grasping Menke's jaw in his hand, he forced the younger man's head up, staring hungrily into dull green eyes. "Yes, Menke."  
  
Jerking away, Menke whimpered, clamping his hands over his ears, shaking his head. "No." He repeated, sobbing the words harshly, his throat growing raw and ragged from the sound. "No! NO! NO!"  
  
"You heard the man."   
  
Spinning, McCafferty saw a flash of blazing golden eyes, a streak of something metallic sweeping quickly towards his head, an explosion of brilliant white stars in front of his eyes, then the blackness swallowed him.  


* * *

  
  
McCafferty is damn good at hiding when he's getting weak.  
  
That last hit of his downed me, but no more than an average blow to the head would. I'm going to have a stinking migraine for hours, but it didn't keep me unconscious like when he hit me with the handle of his latest weapon.  
  
A weapon that the stupid git left lying around.  
  
Most of them disappeared into some hidden doorway or something as soon as he finished whacking us around the head with it, but not this. When he dropped me, he didn't seem to realise just how close he dropped me to his toy.  
  
A fire axe.  
  
Now, I had a choice: Kill the body of the man who had once been my good friend, albeit a drunk one or knock him into unconsciousness, grab Menke and run like our lives depended on it, which – on reflection – they did.  
  
I've never been the homicidal type, but lying there, listening to him taunting and mocking my husband, crushing the man I love, I've never thought hacking someone to pieces could sound quite so appealing.  
  
But I can't kill Ronan.  
  
In spite of everything, its not his fault a monster stole his skin. Its not his fault that we've been kidnapped, tortured, brutalised, beaten to within inches of our lives – and I've always wondered just how you measured that – and nearly killed by the creature with his face. It's not his fault I'm a sappy sentimentalist with no stomach for blood.  
  
Ironic, considering the state I'm in.  
  
So, I show mercy.  
  
Of sorts.  
  
"You heard the man."  
  
Whack.  
  
He falls.  
  
Whack.  
  
His head smacks resoundingly off the solid floor.  
  
Whack.  
  
The flat of axe catches him across the temple.  
  
Whack.  
  
The cut burst wide open, spilling scarlet blood all over the one clean patch of floor. Almost a pity. Note - I only said 'almost'.  
  
Whack.  
  
His body stops moving.  
  
Whack.  
  
Hey! Maybe I was wrong. I guess there are those little homicidal tendencies in all of us. One more hit and he's dead and its all over and we can go home...  
  
And Menke will forever be left with the image of me smashing an unconscious, defenseless man's head in with an axe...  
  
His hopeless green eyes are resting on my face, the upraised axe ready to fall for the last – and fatal – time. Warm liquid oozes over the smoothness of the handle, trickling over my fingers and bringing me back to reality with a bump.  
  
This isn't pretend.   
  
I'm about to kill a man.  
  
His blood is all over my hands.  
  
The axe falls for the last time, slipping from my grip. If anyone asks why I didn't kill him when I had the chance, I'll stick by my excuse...the axe got too slippery to hold on to, even though the blood was tacky and I could barely tear my hands from the wood.  
  
It dropped with a thump beside the motionless McCafferty, the trickle of blood running down and dripping off the end of his nose, forming a neat puddle of dark, congealed clots around the tip of the axe head.  
  
"D...Demi?"  
  
Menke's terror-filled eyes are still fixed on McCafferty's fallen form. He's shaking, visibly shuddering, his knees pulled up against his chest, fingers digging into his flesh, is breathing uneven, ragged.  
  
That's what I must have looked like. No wonder Munkustrap had been so angry, when Macavity attacked the yard. Just looking at my husband like that almost made me pick up the axe and finish the job.  
  
But I have to get Menke out of here, out of McCafferty's grasp, out of the terrifying place he is mentally trapped in now.  
  
It's hard to explain it, but when Macavity gets to you, it's like you're stuck in a world that is his and there's no where for you to go. You can run and run, but you never get anywhere. He'll always be there, right behind you, laughing and taunting.  
  
It's a struggle to get out.  
  
I can say that because it's taken me this long, two lifetimes, to see what I did wrong, to see that I could have done as Bombalurina did so long ago. It's all in the mind and once you get past that, once you defeat the bastard mentally, there's no going back.  
  
Making my way to his side, I position myself between him and McCafferty's inert, bloodied form on the floor, grab his chin, force his head up to look at me. At me. Not at our attacker, not at the floor, not at a blank spot on the wall.  
  
Directly at me.  
  
If there's any of the Menke I love left in that shell of a man, I have to find it and haul it to the surface as fast as possible.  
  
I don't want to lose him.  
  
Not again.  


* * *

  
  
I'm in my cell again.  
  
Dark and depressing with plenty of shadows for me to hide in. No one's gonna find me. I giggle. I'm playing hide and seek, I tell myself, and no one's ever going to think of looking for me here.  
  
In a nice, dark corner of a tiny, nice, dark cell.  
  
Like that kiddy's poem we used to say...in a dark, dark land, there was a dark, dark wood and in the dark, dark wood there was a dark, dark clearing and in the dark, dark clearing, there was a dark, dark house and in the dark, dark house there was a dark, dark cell and in the dark, dark cell there was a dark, dark corner and in the dark, dark corner there was a...  
  
"Menke?"  
  
Ooh! Someone's trying to find me! But they won't! Heehee! I'm bad! I'm bad and no one's going to find me! Start singing now! No one's going to find me, no one's going to find me! I'm hidden good. So good that no one will ever find me.  
  
"Come on, Menke..." Something touches my face, but they can't see me! No sir! No one can see me! I must be invisible or something cos no one is ever going to find me. Not even him. No one knows where I'm hiding.  
  
"I'm not here!" I giggle again, wondering if I should be laughing or crying. "You can't find me! You can't find me!"  
  
My chin is forced up by whoever has broken into my nice safe cell. Safe and dark. Safe and dark. No one can see me. No one can see me. Safe and dark. "Look at me." The voice says calmly, strictly.  
  
Ooh! It's my mum, come to find me and tell me off. That's who it is. I'm bad and I'm in trouble, if they find me, but they won't find me. No one ever finds me cos I'm so bad and dark and hidden in the shadows, all dirty and nasty.  
  
"Look at me, Menke." The voice says again. It's right in front of me, so I look anywhere but there. If I look there, they'll see me, find me, know I'm here, hurt me...hurt me so bad...so much...make me die...  
  
Looking up and down and everywhere but the direction of the voice, I want to laugh and cry and scream at the same time. But I can't. I can't cos then they'll find me and they'll do all those horrible things to me again. Things they can't do when I'm hiding...  
  
So I sing a song for my Demi. "Lean on me, when you're not strong..." Demi. My sweet, pretty Demi. I wonder where she. Maybe she's playing hide and seek too, all hidden in the dark of her cell. I hope not. Demi doesn't like the dark. "And I'll be your friend. I'll help you carry on..."  
  
"For," A voice starts singing with me. "It won't be long," Oh God! They've found me! They know where I am! They know I'm here! They're gonna hurt me again! "Til I'm gonna need somebody to lean on."  
  
Nothing to lose, nothing to gain, I look at the person who has found me, waiting to be hit, to be punished, to be hurt. Big, beautiful golden eyes look at mine. Eyes that only belong to one person that I know.  
  
"Hey." She smiles, strokes my cheek with her soft hand and I know it's my Demi.  
  
And suddenly, the cell...the blackness, the darkness has all gone. All that's left are me and Demi, sitting on the floor. Light falls down from the high windows, letting me see my mate's face. My wife's face.  
  
"Demi?" One minute I'm sitting, the next I'm in her arms and I'm crying. Crying so hard I think I'm going to tear in half. Her small hands stroke my hair, my cheeks and I feel her shaking. My Demi is crying too.  
  
"Menke..." She whispers my name, close to my ear. "We have to get out of here. Before he comes round..."  
  
It's only when she says those words that I finally notice him. He's still there...it wasn't a nightmare...it was all real...all the pain, the hurt, the words...  
  
"No..." I see my safe, shadowy corner. I have to get back there, hide again, where no one is ever going to find me. "NO...go away...let me be...go away..." I try to crawl away from her, from him, from the light. I just want to hide.  
  
Her hands grab my arms, stopping me. She pulls my face close to hers, staring at me, her hand rising to wipe my cheeks. I must be crying again. Or bleeding. Something warm is running down my face.  
  
"Menke, you can't hide again." She whispers, rose-tinted tears running down her face. Pretty. The same colour as her perfume back home. The one in the expensive bottle. I shake my head at her, just wanting my corner. "Listen to me."  
  
"Let me go."  
  
"Not a chance in hell." She's starting to sound angry. "Listen to me, Menke. If you run back to your hiding place now, you'll never get away from him. He'll always be watching you." I don't need to listen, don't want to listen. Hands over my ears, I stare at her, daring her to make me listen. I want to hide and she can't stop me.  
  
But she doesn't.  
  
She sits back, her eyes filling with big, fat tears. I take my hands down, wonder why she cares. I'm dirty. I'm filthy and horrible and sick and disgusting and I should be left in the dark to hide from everyone.  
  
From her.  
  
"I know how you feel." She says. She moves towards me. I want to run away from her, from her light, but I can't. "I've been there, Menke. I've been in the dark place...just take my hand and we can go somewhere warm, somewhere nice and no one will ever hurt us again..."  
  
Her words are like a torch. The darkness starts to fade again, creeping away. My corner is no longer there, not waiting for me to curl up and hide in it. I'm with my bright, beautiful wife and she knows the darkness can't hold me.  
  
If she says it, it must be true.  
  
She stretches out her pretty hand and I take it, her fingers warm around mine and suddenly, everything makes sense. "I love you, Menke." She says. Then she kisses me, just a brush of her lips over mine and I know that everything will be all right a long as I'm with her.  
  
"I know." It seemed like a good thing to say, as she helped me to my feet. God, I'm a mess. All covered in blood, guts and gore.  
  
"Don't you go Han Solo on me." She wags a finger in front of my face, a smile lighting up the room around her.  
  
"I'm better looking." I tell her indignantly, wondering where this strange sense of humour crept up from. I still just want to curl up and cry, but now...I'm cracking weird jokes about movies with my equally battered wife.  
  
She smiles again, her eyes flicking around the dim warehouse, searching, questing for the way to the sun outside. "Don't flatter yourself." She says, her arm around my back. If it wasn't for her I'd fall again.  
  
"Oh man..." A third voice interrupts our little joke-fest. Demi freezes, a thrill of fear surging through me. I recognise that voice. She recognises that voice. It can only belong to one person that we know.  
  
And he's just dragged himself out of unconsciousness on the floor.  


* * *

  
  
Clutching his head between his hands, trickles of crimson streamed between his fingers, dripping to the floor.  
  
Whimpering, the monster that the couple had been fighting so hard suddenly seemed to be little more than a lost, frightened schoolboy. His bloody hands trembled, lowered from his face, tear-filled emerald eyes staring up at the couple, horrified.  
  
"R...Ronan?" Demi's voice cracked, faltered.  
  
Lowering his face, flinching at his name, the copper-haired Irishman shuddered. "Demi...you should have killed me...you've got every right..." Folding his hands in an attitude of prayer, a pained sob tore through him. "God forgive me, Dem, I didn't want this to happen. I'm so sorry."  
  
"What kind of cheap stunt is this?" Barely able to remain upright, Menke narrowed his eyes, his full weight maintained on his wife's thin, shaking shoulders. "Another of your twisted mind games, is it?"  
  
"No, Menke." Demi shook her head, her eyes locking with those of the man kneeling in supplication before them, crystalline tears streaming down his bloody face. "It's not Macavity anymore...it's Ronan...look at his eyes..."  
  
The actor took a reluctant step forward, almost expecting McCafferty to lunge up at him, attack him, anything. Bending painfully, he grabbed the other man's chin in his hand, forcing Ronan to look at him.  
  
"Oh hell..." The guilt, despair and shame visible in those misty, glass green eyes said more than any words could. "Ronan..."  
  
Grasping for Menke's hand, Ronan's voice came out a strained choking sob. "I'm sorry, Menke. So sorry..." Lowering his head, he dropped the dark haired man's hand. "You have to get away from here. Away from me."  
  
"We can all get out of here, Ronan." Demi said quietly, standing alongside her husband, seeing the wary, fearful look in his dark eyes. Speaking down to the man on the floor before them, she gripped Menke's hand reassuringly. "You can come with us...we can get to safe..."  
  
"No." The copper haired head snapped up. "You two have to leave. Leave now. Get as far away from me as you can...he'll be back in control...I can't fight him...he's too strong. I don't want him to hurt you again...just leave me and get out."  
  
Menke nodded, still suspicious and uneasy. "Tell us how...this place is a labyrinth..."  
  
Ronan stumbled to his feet, distancing himself from the couple. "This way." He directed them a massive crate, pressing a spot on the side panels of the wood. Immediately, the slats slid aside, revealing an illuminated opening. "Turn left and follow the white line along the wall...it leads to the back exit..."  
  
"We can't leave you here." Demi stared at Ronan hopelessly. "I don't want you to become him again...isn't there something we can do?"  
  
Ronan nodded firmly, his expression set. "You can get the hell out of here...find the police and tell them everything." He gave her a timid smile, much like he used to when he had come to her for scraps of food in the past. "I hear that jails are quite comfortable now. I'll follow you out, as soon as I think you've got where you need to be and the coppers are waiting."  
  
Stepping through the opening, Demi returned the smile sadly. "You take care, Ronan." She reached out and squeezed his hand.   
  
"Go." Turning away, he disappeared back into the darkness of the labyrinth.   
  
Sliding the hefty panel of wood shut, Demi blinked back her tears, reaching for Menke's hand in the dim light of the secret tunnel. "Let's go." She said quietly. Leaving her friend at the mercy of his evil side was tearing at her heart, but she knew there was nothing she could do for him.  
  
Arm-in-arm, walking as fast as they could and as they dared, the couple started down the passages, not knowing where they were going or where they would emerge. All they knew was that an escape had been offered to them and they just had to trust that it wasn't another trap.  
  
They didn't have any other choice. 


	11. Together Again - Part 11

Bare bulbs swung haphazardly from the low ceiling, illuminating the path they had to follow, the streak of white along the wall gleaming with a luminous quality, brighter than anything they had seen in days

Bare bulbs swung haphazardly from the low ceiling, illuminating the path they had to follow, the streak of white along the wall gleaming with a luminous quality, brighter than anything they had seen in days.  
  
Weak, exhausted, barely able to remain conscious - let alone upright on their aching feet - they stumbled on through the bare passage.  
  
The walls still made of wood were dark, dull, the only light in the tunnel from the glass orbs suspended from the panelled 'roof', which was nothing more than the third side of the massive crate.  
  
McCafferty's concept of making the maze out of crates was smart, never even suggesting that the crates were hollow - or that they indeed contained the only exit from the nightmarish warehouse the victims were trapped in.  
  
The concrete floor was stained with a bloody trail of footprints, made by the couple who were so desperately trying to find their way out.   
  
It seemed like an eternity before the walls changed, moving from wooden planks into rough brickwork that shone a rusty-red tone, the broad strip of white paint slashed carelessly along it at shoulder level.  
  
At that point, the passage was bisected by another, splitting into a choice of four paths, each looking as dark and ominous as the other, the concept of operating lights seeming to have been abandoned before this area of the tunnels was ever reached.  
  
"Which way?" Menke straightened up, leaning against the wall to catch his breath, his bruised and broken ribs heaving with every inhalation he took. Demi was certain she could here a bubbling wheeze of liquid with every breath, but he was trying to hide it, trying to show he could go on.  
  
Uneasily twisting her slender hand into the material of the shirt that covered her, Demi turned one way, another, frowning in concentration. "That way." She finally decided, pointing down the left tunnel. Menke raised an eyebrow. "Woman's instinct." She replied.  
  
"And woman's instinct told you that Starlight Express would be good." Pulling himself from the firm support of the wall, he flashed her a pain-filled grin. "Why do I let you drag me into these things, Dem?"  
  
"Because I pout and look cute?" Looping his swollen left arm over her shoulder, she slipped her arm around his waist, gently gripping his hip to hold him against her. "C'mon, ugly. I think we've had enough of this place's hospitality, don't you?"  
  
A hollow chuckle sent a burst of pain through his body. Grimacing, clamping his throbbing jaw shut, Menke swallowed a cry. "I don't think I can disagree with that." He finally grated out, the colour fleeing from his tense face.  
  
Concern filtered onto Demi's exhausted, battered features, her arm tightening around him. "You're not gonna pass out on me, are you?"  
  
Ashen, Menke shook his head once, his body trembling. "Y..." Swallowing hard, forcing his feet to move forward achingly , he tried to form the words again, his scabbed lips seeping tiny drops of red. "You'd kick...my ass..."  
  
Brushing her head against his shoulder, a wordless gesture of affection, Demi nodded. She wanted to weep, cry for the torment that had been inflicted on her husband. "You know it." She whispered, blinking back tears.  
  
"Wait til I get a pillow." He threatened, his physical anguish hanging on his every word. "Then you'll...get what's co...coming to you..." His words were separated by ragged, wheezing gasps, as he tried to fill his aching lungs.  
  
Giving him her best 'I really don't feel that bad, but you can tell I'm lying so don't say anything' grin, she dipped her head in a nod. "Do I look remotely afraid?" She enquired, poking him lightly as his eyes sank closed. "Hey! You! Don't you go falling over! I haven't threatened you properly yet! You're spoiling my fun!"  
  
His tortured eyes fluttered open, almost black with pain. "S...sorry, Dem..." His legs went out from beneath him, his weight sagging heavily down on her, pulling her to the rough floor with him, his breath escaping in tiny pants.  
  
"Menke?" One arm around his shoulders, she pressed her eyes closed for a moment, mentally halting the flood of tears she could feel pricking her eyelids. Sniffing hard, she leaned over her husband, his head resting in the crook of her arm. "Menke Strep, you get your sorry ass out of unconsciousness now or I'll never speak to you again!"  
  
"Not...unconscious..." Dark eyes, beaming with tears, fixed on her face. "Can't..." He gestured to his bloodied legs, the bruised and broken flesh peeking out between the strips of denim that still shielded his modesty, or what was left of it. "Can't move..."  
  
Squinting down the darkness beyond them, Demi exhaled a low sigh, half-frustrated, half-despairing. It couldn't be that much further. She had to get him moving again, even if it meant dragging him.   
  
"C'mon, Menke, you lazy twat," Pulling him into a sitting position, his groan of pain raised a surge of guilt inside her for having to hurt him more. She pointed down the passage. "Look!" His eyes followed her finger. "There's a light at the end of that tunnel..."  
  
A tiny smile tugged at his lips. "At the end of the tunnel..." He let his head loll against her shoulder tiredly. "There's a light...Starlight..." A chuckle was broken of by a fluid-sounding choking fit.  
  
Unable to hold in the hysterical laughter she had been holding in, the situation crashing in on her, she shook her head. "I knew you liked the show!" She whispered triumphantly, pressing her lips to his bowed head. "You know what we have to do, don't you?"  
  
Raising his eyebrows, his voice was low. "Go into the light?" He suggested wearily, a faint smile on his lips.  
  
"It can't be that much further." She pulled his left arm over her shoulders again, her right arm beneath his arm and spanning his back. "I'll give you a piggy back if I have to, but we're going to get out of here."  
  
Letting her get to her feet, pulling his near dead-weight body with her, he tightened what control he had left in his legs, holding himself upright. "Sounds good to me." He acknowledged, his words slurring painfully over cracked teeth.  
  
Focussing on the tiny spot of dim light at the end of the only unlit passage in the place, Demi's hold on Menke never faltered, his whole body practically draped over her back. Making herself go on, her body screamed in protest, but she ignored it.  
  
His arms hung over her shoulders, his head lolling against her as he pulled his legs along with her steps. As long as he could keep his legs in motion, he didn't care about the pain that was tearing through him.  
  
Another wave of dizziness rippled through the actor. **Focus, Menke, focus...don't pass out now. Demi needs you to stay live and limping...**  
  
"How many times have you found..." His voice dripping with pain, he helped her pick up the pace, his words soft in her ear. "Though you were firm on the ground...still the world around you sways...you find that all that you've got...does not add up to a lot..."  
  
"And the way ahead's a maze." He could see the pained smile curving his wife's lips. You've used everything inside you..."  
  
"So maybe it's time you tried to find...a brand new power...to shine a light..."  
  
"A light to brighten up your darkest hour..." Pressing a kiss the the crook of his right elbow, Demi knew that the confident, hyper Menke was pulling through. He was back. "I knew that you really liked the show, Menke."  
  
Rubbing his cheek against her blood-matted hair, he gave a painful, breathless chuckle. "So sue me." He murmured.  
  
"I plan to." The sultry tone that crept into her voice defined just what kind of repayment she was expecting. "As soon as we get out of this dump, I plan to...very, very much indeed."  
  
As soon as we get out.  
  
The words were always so easy to say.  


* * *

  
  
Dull afternoon light filtered through the high windows, specks of dust glinting in the beams of gold that spread through gritty glass. Weird shadows played on the walls, scraps of cloth suspended across the windows capturing the light.  
  
His back against one of the massive crates, Ronan raised his head slowly, the trails of dried blood coating his face glistening. Lifting his trembling hands, he pushed his tangled mass of copper hair back.  
  
After Demi and her husband had left, he had taken the chance to weep. To let everything out of him, all of the guilt, the pain, the disgust at what his body had done, inflicted on the beautiful woman and her husband.  
  
Clamping his hands on his upraised knees, he continued to stare blankly up at the lazy sunlight that was ebbing around the cavernous room, but even the warm tones couldn't bring him any kind of relief.  
  
He had retrieved the scraps of the shirt from the floor, pulling them on to try and rid himself of the chill that was freezing him to the bone, yet nothing helped. His teeth were chattering, hard, his body shivering from head to toe.  
  
Nothing, not even the hottest furnace could rid him of the cold, he knew. The brutal, mocking voice was whispering inside him again. It had been silenced for a few blessed moments, but now, it was hissing and whispering its way back, its control and power swelling.  
  
Rocking back and forward, shuddering sobs rippled through the man, his quivering hands rising to his temples, his fingernails digging painfully into his scabbed temples, trying to fight the hypnotic tones of the voice from within him.  
  
"Leave me alone." He mumbled, his rocking increasing in speed, blood was welling from his scalp, over his hands, but he no longer cared.  
  
(I don't think so.)  
  
"Please...leave me be...I didn't do anything...please..."  
  
(Beg some more. See if it helps.)  
  
More tears broke from Ronan's green eyes, flooding down his cheeks. "I just want ye to leave me alone...find someone else..." Pleading desperately, he searched around for the unseen presence that was tugging at his mind.  
  
The chuckle that he associated with the voice made him shudder in terror. (But I would have to kill you, to release my spirit from this body...and we both know you really don't want that, don't we? You love the power I've given you...the strength...)  
  
"No!" Stumbling to his feet, clasping his hands over his ears, he backed away, pressing his eyes shut in a hopeless attempt to stop the voice. "No! I don't want this! Kill me if ye have to, just leave me alone!"  
  
(You can try and block me out, dear boy.) A shiver passed through the man, an unseen hand chillingly caressing the top of his head. (You can fight me as much as you like, but it won't save you. Nothing can save you.)  
  
"Please..."  
  
(You let them go.) An agonising burst of fire tore through Ronan's torso, dropping him to his knees, his fingers digging into the flesh of his chest, scrabbling to try and tear the presence from his body. (You released them.)  
  
Half-crawling, half-limping, Ronan whimpered, stumbling towards the hidden panel. He had to get to the police before he lost control again. He had to get himself locked up somewhere, anywhere that meant he wouldn't hurt anyone.  
  
(You know they'll never escape me.)  
  
"Leave me alone!"  
  
A rumbling chuckle thundered through his head, dragging his hands to his temples with the pain, his palms clamping to breaking point. (Aww, darlin', I wish I could...but you really are such fun to play with.)  
  
Inhaling ragged breaths, Ronan shoved aside the panel, determination etched on his gaunt features. "I won't let you hurt them." He whispered, ignoring the mocking laughter ringing in his head. "I'd rather die."  
  
(You can't defeat me, Ronan. I don't know why you even try. Death couldn't stop me, so what makes you think you can?) Macavity's tone was bored, condescending. (Without me, you're just a useless drunk and no one gives a damn about you anyway.)  
  
The red haired man didn't reply, staggering into the dark labyrinth, determined to turn himself in before he could harm another living soul, before the evil that inhabited him managed to take him over, its words cutting closer and closer.  


* * *

  
  
"Why do I always get assigned to stakeouts?" Parked at a broad T-junction, separated from the river by a narrow strip of pavement, the two police officers had been assigned to watch the main doors of McCafferty's offices.   
  
In the passenger seat, the slightly younger of the two looked down the narrow passage they sat at the head of, a low, frustrated sigh escaping her.  
  
A pair of mischievous blue eyes glinted at her. "Because there's a bet on how long you'll last, without threatening to kill your partner, at least once." Leaning against the steering wheel, he glanced to his right, over the wide expanse of river, trying not to grin at the temper tantrum he knew would follow. "Everyone knows you're nuts."  
  
"You're kidding!" The police woman turned hazel eyes to her colleague. His grin more than clarified that he was telling the truth. "I'm not that bad, am I? I mean, I do usually manage to last at least three hours..."  
  
"Er...yeah..." Her senior tried to maintain a straight face, failed miserably. "You're bloody crap, pet...to be brutally honest."  
  
She shot a glare at him. "How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that? Just because you went to school with me, doesn't give you the right to..."  
  
"What, pet?" He smirked, quirking a dark eyebrow, his eyes dancing. "What do you want me to call you? Elizabeth? Lilly-bet? Liz? Beth? Betty? Bubbles? Bufferoonee? Any of the above?" As usual, she dignified him with an icy glare.  
  
Taking a sip of her coffee, she turned her attention back to the building, her eyes cold. "Just Sergeant Summers will do, blondie." She replied, in soft, measured tones. "No nicknames while we're on duty."  
  
"Sergeant Summers...sounds like a deputy in a holiday camp." He sniggered, lifting the envelope that contained the files and surveillance photographs about the man he was investigating and had been for a long time now.  
  
"Look, Will, I'm trying to do some work here. Mind keeping your gob shut?"  
  
Flipping through the suveillance images, he let his eyes settle on the face of the man they were looking for – a good-looking, smart, A-class rich guy with a lot of skeletons in his very secure, inpenetrable closet.   
  
He had been investigating this particular man for almost a year now. Ronan McCafferty – a Master criminal, so blatantly guilty of every crime he had been accused of, but as slippery as an eel when it came to evidence.   
  
If the police had a witness stating he had been in one place, committing anything remotely criminal, then he could just as easily produce twenty witnesses to support any of the numerous alibis that he always had.  
  
Shrugging, Pike opened the brown folder, skim-reading about the missing couple that were also involved in the investigation. Nothing but a series of coincidences, loose links between the man they wanted for questioning and the missing man and wife, had meant he was stuck in an incredibley boring undercover surveillance operation.   
  
Nothing ever happened on his shifts, apart from being stuck with Summers. Why would the criminal mastermind be bothered with a dancer and his wife? There was nothing important about those two in the least. But, because McCafferty had been accused and because he took many of the McCafferty cases, D.S. Pike had unwillingly dropped himself into the situation.  
  
"You know, Summers." His bleached head still bent over the reams of paper and notes, he didn't look at his quazi-blond counterpart. "I've been meaning to ask why you seem to like working underneath me so much."  
  
Her head snapped round, catching the lewd grin on her senior officer's face. "You may be one of the C.I.D. mob," She replied primly. "But that doesn't mean you're on top...so, now, I want to get on with my work..."  
  
"That's a first."  
  
She shot another glare in his direction. "Oh bite me."  
  
"Happy to oblige." Feigning a pounce in her direction, a motion from the building before him caught his attention a second before her hand slapped him across the cheek. "Isn't the warehouse on the corner meant to be deserted?"  
  
Summers shifted in her seat, looking from the clipboard on her lap to the appointed building. "It says it should be here." She replied, pointing to the form. "Why?"  
  
"I was wondering why someone would be trying to break out of a disused warehouse." Twisting in his seat, he was out of the car, standing on the pavement in an instant, his eyes fixed on the supposedly-brick wall, something smashing its way out from behind, a small blade glinting in the dull sunlight.  
  
Several large shards of thick, white paint dropped to the road, shattering. A human-size hole was left gaping through the wall, inside which, the police man was convinced he could see two figures standing, just shielded by the darkness of the innards of the sinister-looking, supposedly empty warehouse.  
  
Slowly, the two figures became more discernable, both looking like they had just been thrown out of Hell: a man and a woman, clinging to one another desperately as they practically fell through the opening.   
  
The man seemed in a worse state, clad only in the torn remains of blood-crusted jeans, while the woman's fragile-looking body was concealed by a tattered shirt, barely held together by the buttons up the front.  
  
"Summers," Starting across the road to the couple, Pike's hand fumbling through the pockets of his leather jacket, he called back to the officer in the car. "Get an ambulance here, now!"  
  
The man and woman stared suspiciously at him, as he neared. Aware that looking like an escapee from the punk era might detract from his so-called credentials, he withdrew his badge from his pocket and held it out for them to see.   
  
"I'm D.S Pike, Holden C.I.D...would I be right in assuming that you're Menke and Demi Strep?"  
  
The couple seemed to visibly sag with relief, the woman clearly holding the dark-haired man's weight up. "That's us." She nodded, gingerly helping her husband to sink down, her arms cradling the man gently, the small switchblade clasped in her hand folding and disappearing into some pocket or other.  
  
"Ambulance is on its way." Summers ran lightly over from the car, her eyes widening as she took in the extent of the couples injuries. She'd never seen anything like it, let alone believed that anyone could survive in the condition the couple were in.  
  
The wife raised her battered face, the gratitude in her eyes shining beyond the bruises and blood, her fingers gently stroking her husband's motionless face. "Thank you." She whispered through scabbed lips.  


* * *

  
  
"They're safe!"  
  
Rina blinked sleepily, raising one hand to rub her sleep-fogged eyes, wincing as the needle in the back of her wrist shifted. "Wassat?"  
  
Philip practically bounced onto the bed, his grin splitting his face. "They've found them! Demi and Menke!" He grabbed her hand between his, his eyes bright. "They're both alive! They busted out of McCafferty's and they're waiting for an ambulance!"  
  
"They're alive?" If she had been able to, Rina knew she would be dancing around the room with happiness. Her big sister and brother-in-law: They were alive! On their way in! As soon as they reached hospital ground, they would be safe.  
  
She couldn't dare to believe it, until she had seen them, touched them, been at the butt of one of Menke's terrible jokes.  
  
"Are they..." She searched for the words. "Okay?"  
  
Philip's face took on a more sober expression. "They've both been beaten up pretty badly, but I didn't get much more from the policeman who reported it." He forced a smile. "At least they're alive, huh?"  
  
"Yeah." Rina returned the reluctant half-grin, still uneasy. "They're gonna be here soon. One big, happy family taking over the hospital. At least they're safe now...they're not going to be taken away from us again."  


* * *

  
  
Running her fingers down Menke's cheek, Demi smiled faintly up at the paramedic who was currently inserting a needle into her half-conscious husband's arm, giving him the pain-killers he had been needing for so long.  
  
Now that they were out in the light, she could see the extent of his injuries, far worse than her own. His ribcage seemed completely out of shape, his torso almost totally black with bruises and dried blood, eyes swollen closed.  
  
"Are you sure you don't want to sit down, Mrs Strep?" The blond policeman asked gently, moving beside her. She shook her hand, one of her hands rising to grip the soft blanket he draped around her shoulders.  
  
"I'll be fine." She replied softly, lifting Menke's other hand to her lips gently, pressing a tender kiss to his palm. Raising her eyes to the police man, she gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you for the offer."  
  
Nodding, he turned his attention to the man on the stretcher before them. "What about him? Is he going to be all right?"  
  
Puce-crusted green eyes opened, glinting with the traces of the injured man's humour. "You bet...better believe it." He wheezed, his fingers curling around Demi's. "The wife...owes me...and not...just another round...of twister..." He beckoned Pike a little closer. "I always...win, see...she gets...jealous..."  
  
"Cocky bugger." His wife's eyes were moist with unshed tears, her lower lip trembling as she tried to fight back her tumultuous emotions. "I'm not letting you near that twister board again as long as you live." She bent to whisper in his ear. "That's a promise."  
  
Joining the young sergeant beside the car, leaving the couple together, Pike gave Summers a thoroughly sentimental smile. Digging into his pockets, he pulled out a cigarette, lighting up and inhaling a lazy drag. "Don't you love post-successful-stake-out mushy feelings?"  
  
"You get a happy from finding two people who have be imprisoned and tortured for days?" The policewoman arced an eyebrow. "And I wonder why everyone on the force thinks you're some kind of weirdo."  
  
Pike chuckled. "Look at them, Summers." He murmured, nodding towards the couple. "To see a couple that much in love, in spite of everything." The frail-looking, extraordinarily tough woman stooped to brush a kiss over her husband's lips. "That's what gives me mushy feelings, but don't let word get out..." Rising, he flicked the stub of his cigarette away.  
  
Watching her superior and best friend walk over to the waiting paramedic, Summers shook her head. He still never failed to surprise her, even after twenty years of friendship. Standing, she moved to join them.  
  
Apparently, the injured man was almost prepped to go. They wanted him as comfortable as possible for transport, having taken care of some of the manageable injuries as swiftly as they could with their limited resources.  
  
"We're rea..." The wife's voice trailed off abruptly, her head rising, staring straight ahead at nothingness. Slowly, she turned, her golden eyes gazing back at the building that she had just escaped from.  
  
"What is it, love?" Pike touched her arm, frowning when she flinched. It was almost as if she were somewhere else, seeing something that none of them were seeing, her amber eyes glazed over eerily.  
  
Shaking her head, she blinked, touching her temple. She nodded towards the building slowly, her face taut. "He's in there...you have to get him...he told us to tell you...he's hurt as well...not as bad, but he'll need help..."  
  
"Do you want..."  
  
"I want to see him first." She spoke softly, but firmly. "Then we can go...I need to check something..."The distant look returned to her eyes, her face contorted in pained thought, her lower lip caught between her teeth.  
  
The policeman nodded, gesturing to the other officer standing guard by the opening in the wall of the warehouse. Almost on cue, a figure stumbled out of the opening, falling to his knees, hands raised and face bloody.  
  
"Ronan..." Demi flashed a look at Menke. Her husband nodded slowly, making a tiny 'Go' motion with his hand. Squeezing his fingertips gently, she smiled painfully, hurrying to her old friend's side.  


* * *

  
  
How can she go near him?  
  
I can't bear even to be this close...to see him...it makes my skin crawl.  
  
All the emotions, the fear, the anger he brought to the fore - they return full force, even seeing him submissively slumped on his knees, surrounded by cops. Even knowing that he's trapped now and can never hurt us again.  
  
Even knowing he's Ronan doesn't take away what he did.  
  
What I remember.  
  
I want to tear the feelings away, the memories, the pain...  
  
I thought my death was painful, when my skin was torn and my life was just trickling away with every gush of blood that poured into my lungs, but now, I believe I know the true meaning of pain.  
  
Of every kind of pain.  
  
Physical pain: The bruises, the cuts, the fractures, the dislocations, the sprains, the blood loss, the everything...  
  
Mental pain: Being told so many twisted lies, being played, being manipulated, used against myself and my wife.  
  
Heart ache: Seeing what he did to my Demi, making her believe his lies about me, about him, about everything.  
  
Not even going into what he did...to me...to Phipps...the kind of hurt every man imagines in random thoughts, the kind of hurt not even the most imaginative man can grasp, can conceive, the most terrifying, uncontrollable agony...  
  
Still, I had to let Demi go to him.  
  
How could I stop her?  
  
He was - is - her friend.   
  
He may have been the borrowed face of a monster, but she knew him before that, before he got to us, before he tore apart our happy little lives and left us to pick up the pieces of his sick fantasies.  
  
All I want is to me drugged up the eyeballs, just so I can think without pain, so I can rest without fear of being watched every second of the day, just to sleep knowing I won't wake up with him leaning over me, ready to attack.  
  
Maybe it will take a while to forget.  
  
Hell, of course it will.  
  
This last week...or however long its been...I doubt we'll ever forget it...either of us.  
  
You're always told being in a bad situation makes you stronger. For some reason, the person who said that strikes me as the kind of person who's worst situation would be burning dinner and that doesn't seem a strengthening experience...I wonder how strengthening they would find the experience - the Hell - Demi and I have just been through. The Hell that we're never going to get away from.  
  
Since Ronan really is back, I guess I'll have to face it.   
  
Face the fact that he's going to feature in our lives asa permanent reminder of what happened here to us, at the mercy of the thing inside him.  
  
Just imagine the dinner parties...'Yes, Rina, meet Ronan...no, I know he looks like the man who attacked you and raped me and your sister between torturing the living hell out of us, but he's not the same man...honestly...'  
  
Why am I sudenly taken by the urge to go and hide myself in a box? A coffin preferably, permanently, underground, somewhere dark where I won't have to face anything again: the sidelong glances, the whispered rumours, the lingering memories.  
  
There's only one reason I won't do something drastic.  
  
Well, two really.  
  
One, I can't even move to try anything.  
  
And two...  
  
Well, two is currently walking over to the former host of the creature who hurt both she and I more than anything else in our lives.  


* * *

  
  
He looks so helpless.  
  
It's almost as if something is hunting him, his eyes are all over the place, looking for something that just isn't there...it reminds me of Menke when he was convinced he was hiding from everyone, back in the warehouse.  
  
"Ronan?"  
  
He's barely able to stand, shakily grasping at Detective Pike's arm to hold himself upright, his feet scrabbling for a foothold, scraping his skin raw on the rough surface of the road, his blood flowing as easily as mine and Menke's, reminding me that he is only human.  
  
"Ronan, look at me."  
  
Like I did with Menke, I take his head in my hand, forcing him to turn and look at me, trying to see if he is still in control, trying to see if there is any semblance of the Ronan I had once known in those bottomless green eyes.  
  
He squints at me, blinking hard, his entire body trembling from head to toe. Even remembering what he did to me, under Macavity's direction, I can't help but feel pity for him, for the memories he's going to be left with.  
  
One hand rises, touches my cheek, shaking feverishly. "Demi?" The begging, desperately apologetic note in that familiar voice almost breaks my heart again.  
  
He drops to his knees, buries his blood-crusted face in his hands. His hair curtains his face, his upper body rocking frantically back and forward, barely moving, but enough to make him look like he has completely lost the plot.  
  
I do the only thing I can.  
  
I go down beside him and take him in my arms, hold his head against my shoulder, rock him slowly, stroke his head, soothe him, calm him, until he can bear to move himself or to stand or even breath properly.  
  
I risk a glance at the punk-like policeman. His ice-blue eyes are impasive, but I know he's confused by what I'm doing, by touching the man that – only moments before – I was running in sheer teror from.  
  
Ronan's fitful sobs still, his arms wrapped around me, like a child would embrace it's mother, his hands folded across the blanket that cover my back, his sobs wracking through my whole body; painful, heart-rending, everything I'm feeling.  
  
He raises his face fearfully, looking like he's expecting a blow, his body still twitching unnaturally. Tears are still running from those miserable eyes, his guilt and despair visible in those glassy, green orbs.  
  
"I'm sorry." He whispers, clutching his hands to his temples, his fingertips digging relentlessly into his scalp and I can see blood breaking from the surface from the pressure he keeps on adding, staining his pale skin even more.  
  
Grasping his wrists, I pull his hands down. "Don't." I tell him, wondering what could be so bad that he's started scratching the skin from his head. Its clear that the blood staining his hair is more than just mine and Menke's. Could it be the guilt getting to him? Or something else? Something is definitely wrong with my friend.  
  
He ducks his head, tries to lever himself upright, Pike's hand extending to grasp Ronan's own trembling one. I think the police man's starting to see that this isn't just an average run-of-the-mill kind of case, but its not one I want to explain.  
  
'Yes, officer, me and my husband were cats in a past life and the spirit of the cat who hated us both took over one of my friend's bodies and made him kidnap and rape me and almost murder my husband...can you let him go?'  
  
Why Demi, that's a very nice straight jacket. Do you want a padded room to match?  
  
Either Ronan'll end up in an asylum, if he remains in the same condition as he is in now, or he'll end up in jail for life, suffering for the crimes his body committed while his mind was playing war with Macavity.  
  
As much as it hurts to say it, maybe he would have been better off dead, not being left with the memories of what he did. Not left with the guilt of what he did do. Dead and forgotton, no longer able to hurt us.  
  
But he's not.  
  
He's leaning on Pike and I, faltering, shaking. Apparently, we're taking him to the waiting police car, even though I can't see that helping his mental state at the moment. Perhaps I should smack him over the head with an axe again.   
  
That seemed to clear his head last time.  
  
Maybe I need some medication.  
  
I'm starting to think crazy things.  
  
Why would I want to hit Ronan across the head with an axe again? I mean, its not like he's still Macavity, is it?  


* * *

  
  
Tilting his head slightly, Menke tried not to cry out as Demi dropped to her knees and hugged Ronan like a lost child, tenderly gathering his whole shaking body and smoothing his hair, her voice whispering soothing words to him.  
  
Tried – really tried – not to cry out as she continued to rock him and soothe him and treat him like he'd never hurt her, like he wasn't the body that inflicted the injuries on both of their agonised bodies.  
  
Seeing her do that, to the one she should hate more than anything, only made Menke love his wife all the more. . Her tenderness, understanding and her big heart were but a few of the reasons he adored her beyond comprehension.  
  
Levering the fallen man to his feet, both the blond police detective and Demi maintained Ronan's upright position, his body limp and his head bowed, his face concealed by the twin curtains of his tangled hair.  
  
Demi looked up briefly, flashing a dazzling smile at Menke, her golden eyes still bright in spite of the dark swellings that had reduced them to slits. Looking like a reject from hell, she was still the most beautiful woman in the world.  
  
If anyone in the world deserved to be called a saint, it had to be Demi. Pure and guileless...and with a very suspicious look on her face. He watched, concerned as her attention turned back to Ronan, lines of confusion rippling across her smooth forehead.  
  
"Are you feeling all right, sir?" The paramedic alongside the stretcher asked, determined to do his job.  
  
"I guess." He managed to say, his fingers balling into tight fists, a wince going through him when he heard a strange metallic pop. **Smart move, Menke...just snap all the needles inside your body...make it more fun for the doctors...** Forcing a sheepish grin on his lips, he looked at the paramedic. "Uh...whoops?"  
  
The paramedic tutted and exclaimed and frowned, but Menke's attention was focused elsewhere, as Ronan's legs went out from beneath him again, his arms slipping a little down both Demi and Pike's bodies.  
  
For some reason, the fine hairs on the back of the actor's neck started to prickle, rising on end unnervingly, a shiver running down his spine that suddenly felt like it had turned into a solid column of ice.  
  
It took him less than a minute to realise his eyes were flitting every which way, looking for something that he knew they would never find, searching, searching for something, something illusive...  
  
**Great** Pressing his eyes shut for a minute, he took a relaxing breath, ignoring the paramedics who were still trying to reattach him to his drip of pain killers. **Enough with the Jedi reflexes already...something illusive...pah!**  
  
Demi, however, seemed to have notied, directing both Ronan and Pike towards the stretcher to check on him, her golden eyes filled with a combination of concern for him and some other emotion directed at Ronan, something he couldn't identify.  
  
"Are you okay?" Raising her free hand, his wife touched his bruised cheek tenderly, her caress feather-light. Even in spite of her own pain, she was still gentle and careful when touching him.  
  
"Yeah, Menke," Opening his eyes slowly at the ominously familiar accent speaking in a sickeningly familiar tone, the actor shivered again, the uneasy feeling returning tenfold. "How are you feeling?"  
  
Turning from Demi's face, unable to shake the feeling, something cold and slimy twisting in his gut, he looked up at Ronan's shadowed, blood-coated face. Meeting the other man's deep, green eyes, Menke jerked back as if someone had hurled a bucket of ice water all over him.  
  
"McCafferty!"  
  
There was no mistaking the cruel smirk that curved the sensual lips upwards, the arm that had been snaked around Pike jerking up and catching the policeman across the temple with the steely muzzle of his own gun.   
  
The blonde police man sagged like a sack of wet cement, crumpling in a heap, blood streaming from the gash on his forehead.  
  
Pressing the gun to Demi's temple, his hand tight around her slim throat, the copper-haired man sneered down at Menke. "I see you've inherited your little whore's telepathic gift...what a pity she didn't keep it..."  
  
"Menk..." McCafferty's hand jerked harder against her neck, stifling her words, tears springing to her eyes. She stared at her husband pleadingly, apologetically, desperately begging him not to let her get hurt.  
  
Moving around the stretcher, his eyes moving from the police to the snarling figure of Menke, a low laugh rumbling through him. "Well, this is...interesting..." Demi's nails raked futiley at his wrist, only succeeding in receiving a tighter hold on her. "What could I do?"  
  
Tracing the gun down her jaw, he continued to back towards the empty car, pushing the muzzle of the gun under the gasping girl's jaw. "Please..." Her trembling voice managed to force enough air past her constricted throat to form the word.  
  
"Not more begging." McCafferty sighed, in mock exasperation. "Geez, Demi...first Phipps, then Menke, then sweet little Ronan...now you...doesn't anyone have anything better to do than beg me for mercy?" He forced her chin up with the gun, running his tongue slowly up her tear-spattered cheek. "Actually, keep at it...it's...Oooh...such a turn on."  
  
"Let her go." Forcing himself upright, ripping the needles from his veins, Menke fought down his anger, his voice trembling with barely masked hatred and distaste. "Take me instead of her."  
  
McCafferty's blood-crusted eyebrows shot skywards. "Instead of? You..." He waved the gun distractedly in Menke's direction. "Want me to take you...instead of her?" Gesturing the paramedics away from the stretcher and the police woman away from the car, he chuckled wickedly. "Instead – such a...wasteful word."  
  
"This..is...a mistake...McCafferty..." Demi breathed, her head spinning, little oxygen creeping past her obstructed throat. Dark spots were starting to dot the edge of vision dizzyingly, taking all her energy to keep her eyes open.  
  
McCafferty's chilling laughter rang out. "A mistake? I doubt that, Princess...you see, we're going to go for a little ride..." His teeth sank into the shell of her ear, drawing a stinging trail of blood from her flesh. "What's bad in that? I know how much you like to ride with me..." Demi's eyes widened in disgusted comprehension. "Don't you want to ride, darlin'?"  
  
"Over my dead body!"  
  
"I could arrange that." His voice was icy, as he directed her closer to the car. "But I have bigger, better plans, since darling Ronan spoiled my last one." He glanced over to the fuming actor. "Oh, hubby dearest, ye're comin' with us..."  
  
Menke gritted his teeth, limping painfully over, blood oozing from numerous pinpricks where needles had been inserted then removed from his body, his other wounds opening, leaking crimson droplets.  
  
The blond police man dizzily sat up, clamping his head to his torn temple, taking in the scene before him. "Ronan...let them go...we can discuss this." McCafferty snorted in disgust. "You know you won't be able to get away with this."  
  
"Why not?" Looking from Pike, to Menke, he smirked. "It's not like I haven't done it before, is it, Pike? How many times did ye try and pin somethin' on me?...Hubby, in the car, now...driving seat if you please..." Menke's eyes flashed fire, his jaw clamped shut angrily. "I could just disappear if I wanted to...you couldn't prove a thing..."  
  
Pike was on his feet, backed up by his slighter colleague. "You won't get away for long, Ronan. There will be police everywhere looking out for you. You can't just expect to take someone hostage and get away with it."  
  
"What about shooting a copper and walking away?" Levelling the weapon, the report of the gun was deafening, McCafferty's smirk widened as he slid into the back seat of the car, jerking Demi in with him.   
  
With one final, two-fingered salute back at the stunned Pike, he slammed the door behind him, as the blonde police man dropped to his knees, blood dribbling from a neat, round hole in the center of his stomach, his hands clutching to the wound.  
  
His blood pooling around him, Pike looked up as the car roared off, his pale eyes catching the young woman's through the back windscreen. The desperation and fury he saw there made him want to scream out loud.  
  
Knowing that nothing he could do – anyone could do – would help the couple brought such a murderous rage over him, that he was almost grateful when he fell into unconsciousness, the memory of the battered woman's helpless eyes staring back at him haunting him.  
  
It all depended on the couple now.


	12. Together Again - Part 12

I'll kill him

I'll kill him!   
  
We fell for it again...another one of his twisted games and now he has us, all over again, at his mercy with no escape!  
  
I could refuse to drive, could stop the car, curse him to Hell and back, but none of that would -help. He has Demi and he has a gun and those things never make a good combination in my book, so I drive in silence.  
  
Wonderful images of pummelling his face in with my bare fists rise, my hands moving instinctively on the wheel, the tyres screeching on the road as we take a corner on his orders at speeds that even a suicidal lemming wouldn't try.  
  
I want him to suffer.  
  
Slowly and painfully.  
  
No mercy.  
  
Does that make me as bad as him? Knowing that I want him to hurt in all the ways we've hurt, beg and cry like we both did, cower away, afraid of being touched, lest it be in cruelty? Would that be vengeance or am I becoming a monster?  
  
I risk a glance back in the rear view mirror, find him staring directly into my eyes, his dark smirk resurrecting the nauseous feelings that I always feel in his presence. His fingers tighten around Demi's neck and I can see the bruises spreading, the gun still pressed against the triangle of flesh beneath her jaw.  
  
And she still doesn't cry out.  
  
The hatred in those golden eyes probably matches my own, if not overwhelming it. Glowing fire with her rage, her body is contorted in the seat, half-forced on the floor behind the passenger seat on her knees.  
  
Her hands are tight claws, one gripping the cushioned seat, the other clutching McCafferty's knee to prevent his hold on her throat being the only thing to hold her upright, depending on his mercy not to tighten his hand.  
  
Independent and determined not to give in to him, I can't help being envious of that strength, but I know where she got it and what must have happened to develop that resolve and toughness in her.  
  
I have to remember that she's been through so much more than I have, so many more times than I care to imagine or even have nightmares about. For her to be so strong after being his prisoner for the third time in two lifetimes always amazes me.  
  
It's true.  
  
There's no one in this world like my Demi.  
  
I just hope and pray that she forgive me for letting this happen to her again, for not believing her when she said he was back, for doubting her. Maybe if I'd listened sooner, maybe if I'd thought about it, none of this would have happened.  
  
But, more than that, I hope I can do something...anything that will get her out of his clutches. I don't care what happens to me, as long as Demi gets out of this in one piece. She deserves so much more than this.  
  
All we need is five minutes alone - without the homicidal maniac holding us hostage at gun point preferably - to come up with a cunning plan, so we can plot our clever and devious escape from right under his nose.  
  
Alternatively, we could just go with the flow...  


* * *

  
  
Don't cry! Don't cry! Don't cry!  
  
C'mon, Demi, focus, girl. Okay...look passed the black, c'mon...get some air into your lungs and stay calm, stay calm...it's only Macavity back in control of your friend's body wanting to bump you off after he's tortured you and...CALM!  
  
Stay calm!  
  
Ignore the murderous bastard who's squeezing tightly on your bleedin' throat until you pass out and has that bloody great big gun poking under your chin. Doesn't he know how uncomfortable it is? Sitting like this, gun in jaw, hand on throat...keep the hostages happy or they might turn on you, mate.  
  
Might.  
  
There's an understatement.  
  
I'm getting bloody carpet burns on my bum, I've got a stinkin' headache, I can't swallow or breathe, I'm probably getting blood all over Menke's shirt, my feet have gone to sleep, I can't see out the freakin' window, I need a pee and I'm feeling carsick...can anything else possibly go wrong now?  
  
Oh yeah...hand in hair...nice move, Macavity, dear.  
  
Tearing the scalp? You want me to cry? Whimper like I used to? Ha! I don't think so, buddy. I think you've seen the last of that particular me. She's gone, man. I'm not gonna give you the satisfaction, no matter what you do!  
  
See, that was silly. I can breath now...okay, I might be bald there for a few months, but I can breath, so who gives a damn if you decide to leave me in desperate need of a toupee...I can deal with that.   
  
I'll just nick one from Menke's work. I bet no one would even notice the difference...yeah, yak hair, but so? I could claim it was a bad hair day.  
  
Ow!  
  
That was uncalled for!  
  
When did I ever poke you in the eye with a gun? Yeah, I head butted you, but don't you see it, darling? Blood spurting out your nose is just a look that's so you! The colour...okay, okay, I ruined the upholstery, but its not even your car.   
  
Why would you give a flying fig whether I got your blood on the seat? Oh! I see! Its cos you're bleeding...not cos its the seats! I get it now!  
  
Whoa! More big threats...  
  
Ah! You don't like people laughing at your...technique? Pity...I can't seem to stop...oh, don't give me that look...you know, when you tell someone to stop laughing, it only makes them laugh harder and longer and geez, does it hurt my gut!   
  
But I don't plan to stop any time soon...  
  
Yeah...you got a gun...big whoop.  
  
Is it even loaded or would you just be firing blanks? C'mon then...surprise me...kill me before you have more fun...  
  
Menke, Menke, Menke...just be patient. I am pissing him off for a reason, love. Don't you see...as long as I distract him from what's going on, just as long as I mock him until it hurts, I can stop him getting to you again, stop him hurting you.  
  
That's right, Mac. You can hit me and hurt me as much as you damn well please, you'll never get my husband again, you see. You can shoot me, but then, how would you torment my boy? You could shoot my boy, but then who would drive while you tried to break me?  
  
Again?  
  
What am I up to?  
  
Me?  
  
Stupid, blonde, ditsy Dem, schizoid cat of the Jellicle Junkyard, being up to something vaguely rebellious against the big, bad Macavity?  
  
You expect me to be up to something...something naughty? You think I'm planning to stop you? Now why, oh why, would I be that stupid? Everyone knows you're such a brave, strong, masculine hunk of burning pussy...  
  
Oops...did I say pussy?  
  
I meant it in the most polite way of course...politely insulting your sorry ass...you find that offensive? Well, gee whillickers, that was kinda the plan, stupid! I know, I know – stupid – not very articulate, but pardon me for not devouring dictionaries – God knows I'm hungry enough to!  
  
Ooh! Scary! Waving your weapon in my face again? Should I be quivering in fear? You can't use it, "Darlin'", unless you decide to kill one of us off and that would just be plain stupidity on your part and you know it.  
  
OW!  
  
Okay! Maybe you can use it!  
  
Right. This is good. More blood on the upholstery. Plus the feeling had just come back to that leg, you son of a bitch!  
  
If I had a weapon, maybe that would make things fair. Maybe we would have a slight chance of fighting you off, but where would I find a weapon in a police car? I mean, you had to nick that one off a copper...oh!  
  
Wait a minute...  
  
That's it! I know what to do!   
  
Forgive me, Menke...it has to be done. It's the only way...  


* * *

  
  
Pushing the petite woman's face against his crotch, McCafferty returned his grip to her throat, her mocking words still rankling him slightly. She had never been so mouthy before, but maybe, there was a way he could shut her up...  
  
Shooting her through the calf had worked temporarily, ripping an unwilling scream of agony from her, her body spasming as the aftershock of pain coursed through her, shortly before she turned the air blue with a mouthful of profanities that made the Master criminal's ears burn, his face nearly turning a peculiar shade of scarlet.  
  
"See, Menke, you've got quite the wild animal here." He growled, digging his fingers cruelly into the sensitive nerves of the slight woman's neck, her body stiffening. "Quite a beautiful animal, but tis a pity she conceals herself, wouldn't ye say?"  
  
Menke's green eyes were as empty and cold as a glacier, his lips pressed together in a tight, white line. There was no doubt as to what the other man was insinuating, but – surely – there was nothing he could do that hadn't been done before...  
  
Aside from the whole shooting thing, but it was too late to take that back. Plus, she seemed to be coping with it surprisingly well, considering...she had sworn McCafferty's ear off because she had been ever so slightly peeved.  
  
Struggling for breath, her face pressed suffocatingly against the copper-haired man's denim clad thigh, Demi gasped a sharp intake of air the instant McCafferty jerked her upright, his nails leaving half-moons of blood in he neck.  
  
"Take it off, darlin'." He gestured to the tattered scraps of the shirt concealing her slim frame with a casual wave of the gun, his back leaning against the door. Her eyes narrowed as she shrugged out of the scraps, tossing the remains up onto the small ledge behind the seat. "Now, that's better, my sweet."  
  
"S'frickin' cold." Glaring at him, she pulled away to the opposite side of the car, her arms crossed over her upper body, concealing as much of her slender, battered body as was possible in the confines of the car.  
  
McCafferty smirked, his left arm draped carelessly along the back of the seat. "I plan on keepin' ye warm, darlin'." He murmured softly, the gleam in his eyes suggesting he was greatly looking forward to that prospect.  
  
Rolling her eyes in frustration, Demi cast a reassuring look at Menke, her voice dripping with disdain. "Oh goody."  


* * *

  
  
"Rina Terre?"  
  
The red head in the bed's eyes flicked to the door, a wrinkle of a frown tugging her lips downward. "Who are you? Where are Demi and Menke? What's going on? Why won't anyone tell me anything?"  
  
"I..." The bloody police woman's eyes were rimmed red, rimes of dirt crusting her mascara-streaked face. "I'm Sergeant Summers...I was there when they...escaped." Her voice trembled, as she stepped into the room, pushing the door shut behind her. "He...he was acting crazy..but harmless...we thought he was nuts..."  
  
Rina's brown eyes narrowed. "What's going on?" She repeated, her tone firm, her feeling of dread growing. Surely Menke and Demi were still safe and one there way here. Nothing could have happened...could it?  
  
"He...changed." Swiping tears from her eyes, the police woman shakily approached the bed, a shiver running through her. "It was like he became...someone else. He grabbed a gun...her. I don't know how..."  
  
"He's got them both, hasn't he?" The blonde woman's head dipped in assent. "Damn it! I knew it wouldn't last! It couldn't be that easy!" Her balled fists smacked down on the mattress, blood running from the holes inflicted by the needles in her arms.  
  
The sergeant looked as though she were on the verge of collapse. "He forced them into our undercover car...sh-shot my colleague...he shot Will...just because he wanted to..." Burying her face in her blood-crusted hands, her small body shook with tears.  
  
"Like crying'll help." Rina muttered harshly, forcing back her own tears. "Crying'll catch the guy who did this...sure..." She cast a glare at the police woman. "If I'd tried crying, my brother-in-law would be dead already, instead of being a hostage in a police car with a damn police gun. Crying does not bleedin' well help!"  
  
The police woman's anger seemed to grow at Rina's nonchalance, the red head's mental manipulation working to perfect effect. "That's my best friend who might be dying." She hissed, her tears forgotten in the surge of rage.  
  
"Yeah," Rina nodded, equally angry. "That's also my brother-in-law and sister who the bastard has got...think we've got a McCafferty-Hate-Foundation goin' in this ward for the Hell of it? I don't think so, sweetheart...you've got the links, so tell me....whatcha gonna do to put that son of a bitch in the ground?"  
  
Summers stared at the red head, a dangerous grin curling her lips upwards. "I'm gonna call in every favour I was ever owed, girl." She whispered. "That bastard is gonna pay for taking out my best friend."  
  
"Sounds good to me." Rina sank back against the pillows, turning to look out the window until she heard the door shut quietly on the policewoman. Only then, did she let her tears fall.  


* * *

  
  
Tightening his aching fingers around the steering wheel, Menke forced himself to focus on the pain, to hold himself in consciousness, to make certain he didn't kill both himself and Demi through bad driving.  
  
He even had his seat belt on.  
  
That – in itself – almost made him laugh, the incongruity of the situation he was in. Be safe, belt up – and try not to keep a homicidal maniac in the back seat of your car. It may be hazardous to your health.  
  
But, it was that very situation that made him bite his tongue, made him concentrate on the road ahead, ducking in and out of alleys, following the ginger creature's directions, to evade pursuers or any main and busy roads.  
  
Demi was still crouched behind the passenger seat, her knees pulled to her chest, ankles crossed and arms wrapped around her body in a desperate attempt to cover her blood-matted, naked body.  
  
Occasionally, her gold eyes would catch his in the mirror, the determination and fire there brighter than he had ever seen before, in spite of the lazy hand that McCafferty was dragging up and down her uninjured right calf.  
  
"You know," McCafferty's voice shattered the silence that – up until that moment – had only been broken by the steady purr of the engine and the harsh breathing of the actor. "I haven't played wit'cha for a while, darlin'."  
  
The comment was directed at Demi, but Menke felt his skin crawl, biting down on his lower lip until the scabs erupted in a burst of blood in his mouth. That tone of voice could be used to seduce or to raise the most nightmarish memories.   
  
Menke didn't need to be told what McCafferty meant by it.  
  
"No." Demi's voice was hard, made Menke cast a concerned glance back at her. She was passed caring. She would take anything her threw at her, as long as she infuriated him. "I think it was cos you were too busy playing with my husband."  
  
McCafferty chuckled, his hand sliding up to her knee, squeezing the plum-coloured flesh hard enough to draw a gasp from her. "I think, m'dear," He murmured icily. "That it's time you gave me a little display of yer...gratitude...and remember whose life is at stake." He inclined his head towards their reluctant driver.  
  
"So, what you want me to do?" Empty eyes stared at the man, her tone monotonous. "Dress in drag and do the hula?" She wet her lips, continued, her voice dull. "What do I gotta do? Go get a hair? An elephant hair?"  
  
Menke forced back a snort of laughter, hoping that McCafferty didn't hear. He knew Demi was putting herself on the line and didn't want her being hurt any more than she would be. If he laughed at McCafferty, then he could get her killed and he really didn't want that.  
  
A flicker of life glinted mischievously in Demi's eyes, as she cast a look at the mirror, meeting her husband's anxious gaze. The fact she could still force her sense of humour through, in spite of everything reassured him, but he didn't want her putting herself in more danger than she had to.  
  
"I think you know what you gotta do." McCafferty smirked cruelly, obviously delighting in the concept of humiliating the gentle woman, completely missing the exchange of reassuring glances that passed between the couple, strengthening them.  
  
Exhaling a sigh, Demi reluctantly slid along the seat, wincing as her torn leg opened again, crystalline drops of blood curving ticklishly down her ankle and forming tiny stalactites of red on the tips of her toes.  
  
"Be sure to let yer voyeuristic hubby see, lover." McCafferty raised one of her hands to his belt, his impenetrable eyes locking with hers. "We wouldn't want the darlin' boy to miss the show, would we?"  
  
Clamping her free hand into a fist on her thigh, wishing for the hundredth time that she had the strength to knock him down, to force his hand's bruising grip from her neck, she gave their captor a cold, empty look, turning her attention to the task at hand.  


* * *

  
  
I could bite him, tear of that instrument of torture so easily...everyone underestimates the power of a good set of gnashers, but I doubt he would even feel the pain. I doubt he has any feeling left in the body – controlling the mind must be everything, but the body is empty, like a shell.  
  
He's gone.  
  
Completely.  
  
Insane doesn't even come close to what he is. Although he doesn't have a sign that screams "I'm a raving psychotic!" suspended over his head, you can see in his eyes, the glittering madness there, where before, there was only drunken haziness.  
  
If I even tried to hurt him, it would do Menke and I more harm than good. He's still got a gun directed at Menke's back, his hold on the back of my neck leaving him in control of my actions...except those of my jaw and I can't even do much that way.  
  
He has to keep 'having fun', I know that.  
  
Otherwise, we're both dead.  
  
We have to do what he says, to make certain he doesn't lose interest in us and just blow our brains out. Yes, its a dramatic way to go, but I still had so many things left that I wanted to do before I turned Heaviside up for the last time.  
  
Beating Menke at Twister being one.  
  
We'll get through this, Macavity will burn in Hell - slowly and excruciatingly painfully, I really, truly hope – then I'll wipe the floor with my husband's sorry ass and make him go and see some different shows with me and we'll live happily ever after.  
  
Who knows? It could happen...  


* * *

  
  
"So, how are they?" The silence in the room was unnerving, the young dancer frowning in confusion. He should technically have been at the theatre, but he had an hour before the show - plenty of time to get there and ready, so he had decided to pay Rina a visit. "Ri?"  
  
She was looking out of the only window in the room, her whole body taut. "They're not here, Philip." She murmured bitterly, slowly twisting her head to look up at him, the tear tracks still gleaming on her cheeks. "He got them again. Shot a cop and took them."  
  
"But they were..."  
  
Cursing angrily, she shook her head. "But, nothing, Phil! Don't you get it? This guy won't let them go until either he or they are dead...he won't finish this! Someone is going to die, someone else and I don't know who...but my sister...*my* sister is in trouble and I can't do a damn thing to help her."  
  
He tried to speak, but the red head turned away, muttering dangerously just what she wanted to do to the man who had hurt her family so much. Many of her more explicit, graphic choices of words were ones that even an Eastend boy like Philip had never heard before and he hoped he would never be at the receiving end of the fiery red head's temper.  
  
"Ri...?" He cautiously asked, when her rants and curses had trailed off into soft sobs, her thin shoulders shaking uncontrollably.  
  
"You're gonna wash my mouth out with bleach now, aren't you?" She mumbled, wincing as he gently touched her shoulder, her frustration and anger all spent and only the grief and despair remaining. "I can't face it, Phil...to know they were safe...to lose them again...like that. I just want it to be over..."  
  
"We've talked about this, Ri." Wrapping his hand around hers, he touched her face gently. "We know that they can get through this. No couple in this world are tougher than our Menke and Demi, remember."  
  
Nodding weakly, she let him wipe the tracks of her tears with a tissue. "Don't you have a show to be doing, Phil?" She enquired softly. "I thought you'd be taking advantage of it, before Menke came back and kicked your ass for it..."  
  
"Don't remind me." Philip winced, bending to brush a fond kiss against her forehead. "You take care, shorty. I'll come by later."  
  
"Uh...yay?"  
  
Sticking his tongue out at her from the door, he forced a smile. "If Menke arrives before I get back, tell him I can kick his tail any day of the week."  
  
"You bet." Rina shifted uncomfortably. "But you know I'll have to be his Ra-ra girl, don't you? I mean, I like you and everything, but I kinda have an obligation to support him...being semi-family and pillow-fight-victim and whatnot..."  
  
"Naturally." Winking at her, the dancer ducked out into the hall, leaving the younger dancer to try and force herself to get some more rest.  
  
It was at times like these, she realised – her hyperactivity levels and the need to be jumping around the room getting to her – that calling people in hospitals 'patient' didn't seem like a very good idea at all.  


* * *

  
  
Smirking, his eyes half-closed in lazy satisfaction, McCafferty twisted his fingers into the mass of Demi's thick hair, her head still bowed. Fists clenching and unclenching in silent rage, her eyes pressed close in humiliation, her cheeks burning.  
  
"She really is...very good at this, Menke." McCafferty's voice was still lingering in that seductive purr that he had often used while taunting Menke, when he had made the younger man watch the videos of himself and Demi.  
  
The dancer flinched, as if he had been slapped. Trying to ignore what McCafferty was forcing his wife to do behind him was growing increasingly difficult, his anger and disgust towards the man increasing with every low sigh of pleasure.  
  
Abruptly, McCafferty shifted to sit upright, giving the blonde woman no warning, his pelvis jerking hard against her. Demi's head snapped up, her body twisting away from him as she choked, hacking and clasping a hand to her mouth.  
  
Gagging, she dry-wretched violently, clutching her stomach and throat, saliva drooling from her bloody lips, eyes burning with furious tears. Inhaling ragged breaths, she raised her eyes to stare at him in a combination of pain and anger.  
  
"What's the matter, darlin'?" McCafferty enquired carelessly. "Don't ye know its bad form to stop like that without finishin' up?"  
  
"If you wanted me to finish," She rasped painfully, the back of her throat throbbing. She was certain she could taste blood, but it could have come from anywhere. "You should have stayed still, instead trying to kill me..."  
  
The copper-haired man could see the anger in Menke's eyes, his wife's pain and degradation grating on the younger man's shoulders. "It would have been one helluva way to go, ye've got to admit, darlin'." He chuckled.   
  
"By choking to death?" Shaking with anger, the young woman stared at him, a trickle of blood running – unnoticed – from the corner of her luscious mouth.  
  
Grinning lewdly, he shrugged, his shoulders rising casually. "Maybe I wanted you to see you finish...dramatically." He suggested dryly. "After all, yer hubby's seen all the videos...why not give him the live performance as a treat?"  
  
"A...live performance?" Wiping her bloody mouth painfully, her other hand still trying to stem the trickle of red from her leg wound, Demi shivered, knowing just what he had planned for her, just hoping that Menke would see what she intended.  
  
Even if he didn't, she knew that they had no choice in the matter.  
  
She had to take a chance.  
  
If they got out of this, she would beg for forgiveness later.  


* * *

  
  
Gold eyes meet green.  
  
An exchange of looks, words left unspoken, yet understood all the same.  
  
Both know what is coming, a smile of assurance curving his lips.  
  
It's time.  


* * *

  
  
Gritting her teeth in pain, Demi stifled a cry as her torn calf brushed heavily against the seat, her knees shifting to straddle McCafferty's thighs, his small gun pressed against the back of Menke's seat, in silent threat.  
  
Hands on his bare shoulders, she braced herself, biting down on the inside of her lip as she met his eyes, searching for any sign of Ronan still lingering there, but finding only the cold, mocking expression that reeked of Macavity.  
  
One of his hands snaked up, twisting into her hair, forcing her mouth down onto his in a vicious kiss, her fingers tightening on his broad shoulders, nails sinking into his flesh, raising narrow welts of scarlet.  
  
"That wasn't so bad, was it, darlin'?" McCafferty's cocky smirk had returned, his green eyes dark with lust. Pulling Demi down for another kiss, he glanced at Menke, his eyes catching the actor's in the rear view mirror.   
  
Apparently he had never noticed the condition his wife was in, his jaw tight as he saw the crusted lashes spread over the expanse of her once-smooth and creamy back. Damn shame, McCafferty had to admit, raking a nail up her spine. She did have such a glorious back it had seemed a pity to damage it, but – on the plus side – it had been fun.  
  
Scraping her fingers up his chest, over to the back of the seat, Demi forced herself not to fight, not to bite, scratch, kick and claw, as she had done so many times before. Instead, she slid closer to him, her body pressed flush against his, hoping to distract him, perhaps catch him off-guard and disarm him.  
  
His lips moved to her neck, making her writhe unwillingly, but her eyes focused elsewhere, in particular on the car that was following them, the car that McCafferty obviously hadn't noticed, the car the contained a familiar-looking, blonde policewoman.  
  
It took all Demi's control to prevent herself from crying out in relief, as the car got increasingly closer, her eyes meeting the policewoman's as they sped along through the alleys of the docklands, tall buildings towering on either side of them.  
  
There was no way for them to take over, both the policewoman and the vet knew it, so it was up to her – Demi – to make certain that McCafferty didn't notice that they had an inconspicuous tail behind them.  
  
"Darlin', yer really not tryin'." McCafferty's voice murmured chillingly in her ear, drawing her attention back to the situation, her hands drifting to the torn shirt that lay, scattered across the back ledge. "Where's that fire ye used to have?"  
  
Raising one hand to push his thick hair aside, Demi replied huskily. "I'm exhausted, lover. You are the only one to blame for that...all beat up and no energy left..." She ran a finger down the curve of his ear, drawing back to look him in the eye. "No chains...no whips...it's just no fun without them, you know..."  
  
Her other hand fumbled shakily through the remains of the shirt, as she tried to raise what she hoped was a seductive smile. Her fingers ran down his cheek, thumb brushing across his lips suggestively, looking at him from beneath her honey-coloured lashes.  
  
"You little whore." McCafferty seemed half-angry at his inability to break her, yet half-intrigued by this suprisingly sexy side of the girl.  
  
Pouting, her hand slid around his neck, beneath his hair, fingertips kneading his muscles, as she leaned closer, purred. "I am what you made me." She initiated another powerful kiss, surprising him, his eyes sinking shut with pleasure.  
  
Her other hand clasped the object she had been searching for, fingers curling around the familiar surface, the gleaming blade flipping out with the gentlest of touches, as she teasingly brushed his loose hair aside, kissing him harder, but her eyes focused on the deadly weapon in her hands, moving to a spot on the back of his bared neck.  
  
He was definitely, one hundred and ten percent distracted now.  
  
With that in mind, she looked from the police car to her husband.  
  
Definitely.  


* * *

  
  
Her chin tilted, resting on her shoulder, Menke was startled by the sultry look on his wife's face, her eyes half-closed, her lips curved up in a wickedly sexy smirk he only ever saw after a wild night of passion.  
  
But – beneath her hooded lids – her expression was dark, the hatred, disgust and self-loathing in those gleaming golden iris more than he could bear to face.  
  
Behind them, the police car dropped back several feet, as Demi's attention returned to the man she had well and truly under her intoxicatingly seductive spell, one of his arms tight around her waist, his breathing becoming more and more strained as he ground against the woman.  
  
"Faster." McCafferty muttered thickly, his words aimed at Demi, but Menke decided to appropriate them as well, pressing his foor harder to the accelerator, his hand locking on the steering wheel grimly.  
  
Whatever happened in the next few minutes, no one would be able to say it was anything more than a tragic accident.  
  
Even if it hadn't been deliberately set up, in complete view of the pursuing police car.  
  
Menke could feel his heart thundering against his ribs, as he cast a look back at the two in the back seat of the car. Demi was definitely one of the best actresses he had seen, especially in a situation such as the one they were in.  
  
She was acting every part the sex-crazed slut, drawing McCafferty's focus from everything going on around him. One of her hands was twisted into his hair, making it impossible for him to look away from her. And he was loving having her in control.  
  
That much was obvious from the copper-haired man's very vocal approval of her actions, her movements, her words.  
  
McCafferty's head arched back, her fingers weaving more tightly through his hair, holding his face close to hers, his low growls of pleasure growing in volume.   
  
His eyes opened to meet Demi's, all pretence fleeing those golden orbs, her hatred darkening her iris' to an almost black colour, a cruel smile to match one of his own curving her seductive lips upwards.  
  
"Now!" She snapped, jerking against him hard.  


* * *

  
  
A screech of brakes.  
  
The sound of metal plunging into hot, wet flesh.  
  
The ear-splitting crack of a revolver.  
  
A curse in a male voice.  
  
A gasp of pain in another.  
  
Then, silence, only broken by the shaking sobs of a woman.  


* * *

  
  
Furious green eyes rose slowly, to stare up at Demi. Still straddling him, the slut of a girl suddenly seemed to completely change, raising her tear-streaked face and straightening up slowly. No longer a lost little girl, she gazed down at him contemptuously, haughtily.  
  
The gun slipped from his unfeeling fingers, landing with a solid thump on the carpetted floor of the car.  
  
He tried to raise his hand, tried to move his arm to try and learn what she had done, but nothing happened. He couldn't feel any pain, any sensations from her body still pressed against his, but he couldn't move any part of him.  
  
"How does it feel, Macavity?" Holding his chin in her hand, she eyed him with undisguised disgust. "How does it feel to be helpless? Trapped? Not able to escape or do a damn thing to help yourself? It's not a nice feeling, is it?"  
  
Wrinkling his forehead, he snarled. "What the hell have you done to me, bitch?" More than anything, he wanted to beat the hell out of her for even daring to try anything.  
  
Demi's tragic lips tilted in the suggestion of a smile, yet her dark eyes remained sad. "It wasn't my fault." She murmured. "The car braked too suddenly...I couldn't help the fact I had a switchblade in my hand, aimed at your vertebrae..."  
  
Her hand slid to the door, unlocking it and shakily opening it. On wavering legs, she managed to slide out, almost collapsing to her knees. Bracing herself with one hand against the car roof, she pushed her hair back from her face, inhaling a slow breath.  
  
McCafferty risked a glance down at his chest, his head the only mobile part of his body. Deep red streams of blood were running down over his shoulders, caressing the ridges of his muscles that refused to reacte to his mental commands.  
  
The blonde woman leaned behind him, picking up the tatty shirt he had forced her to remove only moments earlier and slipping it on, her hand moving to his neck, a sharp tug sending pain bursting through his nerve endings.  
  
Stepping back, a small, sharp-bladed knife was gripped in one trembling hand. Slipping from her fingers, it spun in the air in slow motion, falling to the road with a clatter, as she turned away, her face bowed. Beyond her, he heard new voices, new people approaching.  
  
"I'll kill you for this." McCafferty hissed, only to be ignored by the tiny woman swiftly fastening up the shirt as the new arrivals neared. "I'll kill you...your family...everyone you care about. You will never be rid of me, Dem..."  
  
A golden gaze turned to him icily. "Big words, Macavity."  
  
His vision was starting to blur, and he noticed absently that the seat beneath him was soaked in a spreading stain of marroon. "You know it's true, Demeter." His voice was slurred, fuzzy with dizziness and increasing pain. "I died before, but I will always be there..."  
  
Silent tears coursed down her face, her body motionless. "We got away this time. We could do it again." She said the words quietly, confidently, her back turned on him in an obvious display of disgust and fearlessness.  
  
"No, Demeter." A final, smug grin crossed his lips, his eyes falling on the neat hole in the back of the driver's seat. "I defeated you...your love..." With a choking laugh, he slumped down in the seat, his body limp.  
  
Turning, the neat, round bullet hole torn through the seat screamed at her, all colour flooding from her cheeks. "God, no!"  


* * *

  
  
"Is that ambulance on the way?"  
  
"Yeah, sarge!"  
  
The police woman nodded stiffly, forcing herself to turn back to the couple on the road.   
  
They had stopped seconds after the other car, and – despite doing everything they could – they had gotten there too late. The bad guy was out of the picture, but he had pulled the trigger – a muscle spasm or something, and now, there was nothing they could do for the other man.  
  
The man and wife were huddled together, two large blankets spread around them. The wife was on her knees, seeming oblivious to the blood streaing from a nasty-looking wound on her left leg, which lay limply parallel to her husband's body.   
  
He was sprawled on the ground, his torso cradled in her arms tenderly, his head resting against her chest. Her slim right arm was looped around him, under his back, holding him close, her left hand, resting against his cheek.  
  
"C'mon, Munk...please?" Her words were almost too soft to be heard, her grief apparent "C'mon, love...it's over...we beat him and we can go home..."  
  
There was a violent swelling on his temple. No doubt from where his head had hit the steering wheel when he slammed the brakes on, but that wasn't what seemed to be concerning his wife, her hand pressed over the right side of his chest.  
  
Trickles of dark red snaked out from beneath her small hand, writhing their way down his body, over his ribs and dropping to the ground to mingle with the ominously red puddle that was forming below him.  
  
"Is...he gone?" The husband – Menke, that was his name – opened his eyes painfully, barely able to focus on the face above him, his voice quavering, tremulous. "Did we...finish it, Dem? Is it...over?"  
  
She nodded, stroking his cheek with her left hand, her right hand tight on his chest, her eyes brimming over with tears. "Yeah, Munk." Her voice was almost as faint as her husband's, but her lips rose in a small smile. "It's all over. He'll never hurt us again. Never."  
  
"Good." His head sank against her, his already-pale face taking on an even more ashen hue, his eyes half-closed. "You'll...be safe now..." His hand resting on his chest tentatively shifts, brushing her fingertips weakly.  
  
"You too." She said, brushing her forehead against his, her eyes searching his, tears rippling unnoticed down her cheeks and pattering on his face like burning rain. "We'll go home and have all kinds of stupid pillow fights and live happily ever after."  
  
His face shifted, his expression filled with pain. "That's my...incentive...to survive?" He asked quietly, his eyes opening fully, bloodshot and swollen beyond recognition. "God, Dem...I love you...love you so much..."  
  
"What's with the 'I love you's?" She whispered, pressing her finger to his lips. "You're doing the big good bye...its not time! You can't say good bye now! I haven't beaten you at Twister yet! You can't leave me without letting me win once!"  
  
A painful chuckle passed through him. "You know...I'm a bad loser..." His voice had taken on a rasping edge, his pain caried in his every word, a splash of blood falling from his lips, running down his chin.  
  
"Just shut up!" Clinging to him desperately, she pressed her lips to his temple. "You're not going anywhere. We're going to be fine. The ambulance is going to get us and take us to the hospital and we'll be ready to annoy Rina in a few minutes, then everything'll be back to normal, you'll see."  
  
He risked an aching smile. "I remember this...once before...except...I was doing...the begging and you..." Two large tears broke from his swollen lids, rolling down his bruised cheeks. "Promise me you won't forget?"  
  
"I won't forget, Menke...I won't because we're going to get through this." Her anger and misery compounded into one despairing emotion. "You're going to be fine. We're going to be fine. Every bloody thing is damn well going to turn out fine or else!" She was screaming, her tears burning her eyes. "You just have to stop feeling sorry for your miserable ass right..."  
  
"Forgive me." His voice was soft, barely a breath, but her words faltered off, her face turning to his, heart pounding against her ribs agonisingly.  
  
"For what?"  
  
He tried to raise one shaking hand to touch her cheek, failed, his arm falling limply across his chest. "Everything." He replied softly, his breath growing shallower and shallower, lips paling. "For not...believing you...for letting him...hurt you...for..." He pressed his eyes shut, swallowing hard, then looked up at her. "For leaving you."  
  
"I won't." Whispering, her face inches from his, she shook her head vehemently. "I won't forgive you. I won't forgive you for giving up. For not fighting. For leaving me alone again. There's nothing else for me to forgive but that and I won't...I can't let you give up...I can't face losing you again...not now. Not when we're finally free."  
  
"Please, Dem..." Tear-filled eyes gleamed hopelessly up at her. "I...it hurts...so much...I don't...don't want to leave...so dark..." Glassy emerald stared blankly passed her, his breathing getting harsher, sounding more painful with every passing minute. "Please, Dem...hold me...I-I'm scared of the dark..."  
  
Her face crumpled, her body slumping over his, holding him as tightly as she dared, her face soaked with tears. "I'm here, Menke...I'm here..." Rocking him, like a mother would her child, she stroked his cheek lovingly, her heart breaking. "I love you, Menke...I'm so sorry...I love you...I love you..."  
  
Whispering those words over and over, she buried her face in his chest, sobbing fitfully, his body sinking back, a last breath of air trickling from his lungs as his once-dazzling green eyes dropped closed.  
  
Almost an eternity later, when the flashing blue lights of the ambualnce flickered over her bowed head, she raised her face, never moving from the side of her husband's body.  
  
Stooping to brush a kiss over his chilly lips, she softly whispered for his ears only. "I forgive you, Munkustrap." Running her fingers down his cheek one lat time, she smiled sadly. "How could I not? I love you. Always have, always will."  
  
Then, she lay down alongside him, her arms still holding him close, and sank into the comforting embrace of unconsciousness.


	13. Together Again - Part 13: The End

It was a beautiful day

It was a beautiful day.  
  
Really incredible.  
  
The sky was empty, but for the occasional cotton-wool puffs of cloud skittering here and there. An endless expanse of gloriously blue sky illuminated by the brilliant light of the mid-morning sun hung above them.  
  
The gentle fingers of the breeze were the only things that prevented it from being too hot, but - as it was - everything was just right: temperature, wind speed, brightness.  
  
Standing on the small hillock, Demi shifted her feet, the grass still moist with the dew of the dawn, her loose hair swirling around her in a golden corona, her slender arms folded across her black-clad breasts.  
  
It seemed bitterly ironic that the day was so heavenly, everything seeming more alive than she could ever recall it being, while they were here, in the deserted cemetery to pay tribute to a man who had been claimed by death.  
  
Around her, nature sang with vibrancy: the grass was vividly green, blooming bushes and flowers bringing an aurora of colour, the sounds of birds singing - heedless to the mourning ground that they were in.  
  
Demi's sandalled feet were damp with the moisture of the ground beneath her feet, the bottom of her skirt brushing lightly along the tips of the grass as she walked, paying no heed to her companion, tears welling in her eyes at the memories that had brought her here this day.  
  
"Are you all right?" The gentle male voice asked, sending her tumbling over the abyss of pain, crystalline drops trickling down her still-bruised face.  
  
"I'll be fine." She forced a pained smile, raising one hand to scrub away the tears with the heel of her hand, the stitches along her cheek throbbing unbearably. "It's just..." She gestured to the small group gathered by the grave side. "It makes me remember things I don't want to."  
  
Offering her his arm, he gave her a nod. "He didn't deserve to die like that, Dem." Philip murmured, squeezing her hand reassuringly, the black silk of her shirt brushing against his fingers. "No one ever does."  
  
She swayed unsteadily against him, her head bowed. Carefully sliding an arm loosely around her waist, he winced, feeling the thick padding of the bandages that still were binding her ribs back into the right position.  
  
Seeing her on her feet had deceptively told him that she was all right, but - having her almost using him as something to hold her upright - reminded him just how injured she was and just how much she had been through.  
  
As they neared, the family members surrounding the open grave all acknowledged her arrival with solemn looks and polite nods, one of the younger men in the group offering her one of the few seats, seeing her weakened condition.  
  
Gratefully accepting, sinking down stiffly, she grasped his hand, squeezed it. "I'm sorry about your brother." She said quietly, the unshed tears glittering in her swollen golden eyes. "He was a good man. Too good."  
  
"I know." The sad smile she received in turn made her heart break. Lowering her head, she bit her lip as the preacher started to speak, proclaiming how great a loss the world had suffered at the hands of death.  
  
Folding her hands in her lap, Demi picked at her thumbnail, tears trickling down her cheeks and dripping silently onto her fingers, every breath a labour to take in, remembering why she was here once again.  
  
And still, the birds sang happily in the trees.  


* * *

  
  
"How are you feeling? Really..."  
  
Rina's shoulders rose in a slight shrug, then she grinned happily. "I've been wanting to do that for so long!" She exulted, repeating the shrug for emphasis. "I've got some feeling back in my shoulders...it hurts, but I can feel them, so its all good."  
  
"What about your legs?" Annie was sitting cross-legged on the end of the red-haired dancer's bed, sketching another picture for her, while they were talking, only pausing occasionally to sip some orange juice.  
  
The red head winced. "They hurt like buggery." She admitted ruefully, leaning forward to scratch the bump in the blanket that Annie assumed was her knee. "I can't wait to get the casts off. They itch like crazy."  
  
Gripping her pencil between her teeth, Annie pulled a sympathetic face, adding a smirr of colour to the sketch. "I broke my leg once." She remarked, sticking her red pencil behind her ear. "I hated every second of it, especially the cast, even though everyone signed it."  
  
At that, Rina's face split into a scarred grin. Tugging the blanket back as much as she could, she revealed the cast, covered in signatures and filthy comments. "The guys thought it would be funny to write dirty jokes for the doctors to read." She confided. "And they say artists are nice people! I don't think so!"  
  
"Are those...all the CATS cast signatures?" Annie bent forward, her eyes running over some of the comments and jokes written on the white plaster, her face turning a peculiar shade of crimson. "Um...are they always this...suggestive?"  
  
"More than you would believe." Rina couldn't help but chuckle at the older woman's obvious embarrassment, the blatant crudeness of some of the words shocking. "They're a great bunch, but they can't resist being pervs...especially Micki...she has no shame!"  
  
Annie raised an eyebrow. "Isn't she Jemima?"  
  
"Little innocent Jemima played by the girl with the filthiest mind in the cast." The red nodded with a smirk. "After me, of course."  
  
"Of course."  
  
The two women exchanged grins. "You're not meant to agree." The dancer chastised, wagging a finger. "You're meant to tell me how sweet and normal and cute and funny and innocent I am! Take a hint, girl!"  
  
"You mean," Annie feigned horror, eyes round. "You wanted me to lie?"  
  
Rina pouted. "I call it stretching the truth." She muttered sulkily. "Anyway, I'm allowed to be deluded, aren't I? It's all part of being an artist."  
  
"Artist?" The sketch pad was laid down on her bed, Annie striking the classic pose of 'The Thinker', a frown wrinkling her brow. "Artist...hmm...you call prancing about on a stage and trying to sing being an artist?"  
  
She promptly started laughing when a feebly-flung grape hit her right in the middle of her forehead, dropping with a soft thump onto the blanket.  
  
"Don't insult the invalid," Rina warned, faking a glare. "Or else!"  
  
"Or else what?" Annie's eyes glinted impishly. "You'll pelt me with grapes? See me quaking in my boots!"  
  
"No." The red head gave her a smug smirk. "I'll do something far worse..." Annie looked at her expectantly. "I," She announced proudly. "Will pout!"  
  
Throwing a hand over her eyes, in a overly-dramatic gesture, Annie pretended to swoon back on the bed with a wail. "No!" She moaned. "Anything but that! Anything but..." She shuddered visibly. "The pout!"  
  
Rina preened, her grin contagious. "You see!" She crowed triumphantly, her brown eyes dancing wickedly. "I am still a big, bad individual and there's nothing - not even two broken legs - that can change that!"  
  
"I think it's because you're a registered psychotic." Annie remarked, resuming her sketching. "No one wants you to bite their ankles when they annoy you." Her expression was dead pan. "I hear its a very nasty way to go, by ankle-biting."  
  
Rina cast an indignant look at the woman. "I'm gonna tell Demi you said that." She said petulantly. "She'll be mad! She'll beat you all up for me! When she gets back, I'll let her pummel you with my pillow!"  
  
Annie's hand stilled over the paper. "You think she'll be okay?" She asked, her tone suddenly serious. "I mean, the whole funeral thing..."  
  
"I hope so." Rina sighed softly. "I don't want to lose her again."  
  
No explanation was needed for that statement. Both women knew - without a doubt - what kind of loss the red head meant.  


* * *

  
  
I'm really worried about Demi.  
  
Since we left the cemetery, she hasn't said a word. Hasn't even looked at me for about half an hour. Her mind seems focused elsewhere, eyes staring away into nothing, always on the verge of shedding tears, but *just* holding them in.  
  
Not that I expected her to be all sunshine and laughter, after watching that shiny coffin lowered into the ground, the earth thrown in, the covering of the gleaming panels emphasising the finality and closure of the circumstances.  
  
I sometimes wish she would just let her emotions out. She let a few silent tears fall, but I wish she would give in and just cry it out, instead of bottling up the emotions that she is trying to hard and unsuccessfully to hide.  
  
We're on the way back to the hospital now, so maybe Rina's lunacy will stir her out of this despondency, kinda give her the metaphorical kick up the arse and get her to be herself, instead of the tragic shell we've been seeing of late.  
  
I don't even want to know what her kidnapper inflicted on her, but whatever it was, she's going to bear both the mental and physical scars for a long time, a very long time, if not for the rest of her life.  
  
Especially after what happened to Menke.  
  
Life is cruel to the people who least deserve it. It's one of the suckiest and most unfair thing in the world, the innocent being struck down, while lunatics run free and torment the helpless.  
  
God, I'm starting to sound all poetic and stuff! Anyone would think I was some kind of vigilante fighter for the people with all my ramblings about saving the world and how the villains should be swept away by the good guys.  
  
Stating the obvious, that's what I do best.  
  
I'm not meant to be smart. I'm just meant to be a brainless pleb with a talent for dancing and wiggling my sexy arse, not being able to give comfort and reassurance like the best psychiatrists in the land.  
  
I mean, I had the CATS cast as sample cases - I couldn't do anything to help those lunatics. They were too far gone.  
  
But there we go.  
  
None of us are really what we seem. We assume the masks of a stereotype, while hiding our true selves...this coming from the dancer-actor-singer with a degree in Psychiatry and Human Psychology. Munkustrap as a psychiatrist, complete in labcoat, with the glasses halfway down his nose...there's a strange image.  
  
Its true though: You look at Demi and you don't think she could be as tough as she is. The same goes for Rina - she looks like a fiery, sexy airhead, but she's on of the gutsiest and toughest, smartest girls I know.  
  
Menke was the same. He looked like a big clown, mischievous and ready for playing a prank at any hour of the day. He didn't look like he had the guts or strength for anything but idiocy, but - when the chips were down - he had more in him than any of us gave him credit for.  
  
He was a truly incredible man.  


* * *

  
  
Tea.   
  
It's always good in a crisis.  
  
Can't say why, but when you have a cup of tea in your hand, everything always seems that little bit better. Maybe someone spiked the tea, but hell, if it makes me feel better, why not enjoy it while it lasts.  
  
I've just been reminded in gritty, earthy detail why I hate funerals. It's not the coffins: shiny, elaborate boxes. It's not the preacher people: okay, sometimes, they are boring and smell like mothballs, but its not that.  
  
It's the actual burial - the finality of it all, having to face that someone really is dead and that - no matter how much you pray, beg or cry in secret - nothing is ever, ever going to bring that person back to life.  
  
Plus, cemeteries always give me the creeps, be it in the middle of the night on Halloween or during a beautiful, sunny day in the middle of summer. Just the thought of the corpses beneath the earth, rotting and worm-infested.  
  
Aren't I the happy camper?  
  
Rina thinks I need to buy a punch bag, paint a red-haired man on it and pummel the living stuffing out of it with my bare hands. She also suggested using knives, matches and pretty every other dangerous utensil, until I had spanked my inner moppet and started to get over whatever it is I'm under.  
  
As far as I can see it, there's only one thing that will help me feel better and that's knowing that he'll never come after me again.  
  
Call me paranoid - I wasn't called Schizo Kitty for nothing - but until I know he's gone, completely, I'll never be able to stop looking over my shoulder, waiting for his next attack, waiting for whatever he has planned in revenge.  
  
"How was the funeral?" Rina asks, overly-brightly. I know she's playing me for some kind of conversation or reaction and there's every chance she'll pelt me with the smarties I gave her unless I do some talking.  
  
I shrug, sip the tea, pulling a face because its practically a solid block of sugar. "It was a funeral." I tell her. "Kinda dead. Kinda depressing. Box put in ground, people crying, box buried, flowers laid, then we came back here."  
  
"Were there many people there?"  
  
Again with the shrugging, I sigh. "His family." I remember their pain-filled faces, the faces of his parents, his brothers. "They were kind of awkward, but they were nice enough to me, considering where we were."  
  
"You should have waited for me." A new voice put in from the door. "I would have gone with you, you know."  
  
I look up and have to smile. Another of the walking wounded from McCafferty's little escapades has decided to show face, instead of spending his time stalking the doctors - which should be difficult, considering he's still in a wheelchair because of his spine.   
  
From what we can tell, dissecting the medical jargon, the bullet went through flesh and lodged with the tip pressing dangerously against his spinal cord. So, taking the weight off his legs and spine seems a good idea.  
  
"You wouldn't have liked it." I tell him, as he squeaks his way into the room, stopping on the opposite side of Rina's bed. "I'm sure you would have rather spent the time annoying my kid sister here. I know she isn't about to object to it."  
  
It's almost cute. For the first time I can recall, someone has succeeded in making my wild, flirty sister blush red enough to match her hair. "Shut up." She informs me in a low, threatening growl, screwing up her face.  
  
"You don't mean that." He reaches up and pats her hand, a smirk curving his mouth up in a naughty smirk. "I know you like my company, don't you?"  
  
Rina dares to glare at him, her face set in a mockery of a scowl. "Only because I can't run away from you." She mutters. "You tail me everywhere in that bloody chair of yours. I can't even pee without you showing face."  
  
It's William's turn to blush. The policeman has been a gem, ever since he ended up in the hospital apparently. They've even renamed this small ward - its only got four beds - after us, in a strange, cute kind of way: The Junkyard.  
  
It seemed appropriate for us to all stay together, in case our mutual fiend had arranged some surprises for us, before he kidnapped Menke and I. You know the kind I mean - I really have this violent dislike of assassins and their rather rude tendency of actually trying to kill me.  
  
"It's not like I want to see you peeing! When you pull back your curtain and wave your new catheter at me, its kinda hard to miss the meaning!" He pulls a face, gesturing to one of the many tubes leading from Rina's body.  
  
Rina is up in arms immediately. She finally has someone as crazy as her to bounce insults off. "You liar! You're the one who was peeking between my curtains!" I exchange weak smiles with Philip and Annie, both of whom are grinning. "I saw you! You can't hide those wheels of yours! I can see them under the bottom of the curtain!"  
  
"Bloody hell, luv!" Both of them are grinning widely at each other, preparing the next barrage of insults. "I was on my way to the telly room and just happened to be rolling by when the nurse was fiddling with your wotsits!"  
  
"So they're 'wotsits' now?" Rina flares indignantly and I have to laugh. "If I have to hear another word from you about what my bits are called I'll..."  
  
"Shaddup!" A weak wail interrupts the pair of them.  


* * *

  
  
Crossing the room, Demi pulled the curtains around the fourth bed back, her lips rising in smile, as her eyes met the pair of familiar green. "So you've decided to wake up at last, you lazy bugger." Sitting down on the edge of his bed carefully, she gently lifted his hand in hers.  
  
"How could I sleep with that racket?" Sleepily gazing up her, he smiled painfully, his body laced with wires, tubes and needles from every imaginable piece of skin.  
  
"We weren't that loud!" Rina shouted across at him. "You should have heard your snoring! Anyone would think your lungs were still full of gunky stuff!"  
  
Menke tilted his head slightly. "Speak for yourself." His breath wheezed in his lungs, the bandages and strapping around his ribs restricting his breathing.  
  
Large swabs patched over the area they had sliced open to perform open-heart surgery on the actor, at the scene of his shooting, massaging his heart with their hands and bringing him back from the brink, just in the nick of time.  
  
"Are you feeling okay?" Demi brushed a hand over his cheek, grateful for the small blessing that many of his fractures had been clean ones, needing a relatively low number of major operations to put him back together.  
  
His eyes were still heavy. "Chests sore." He admitted, flexing his right hand around hers, the needle inserted under his skin shifting as he stretched the stiff muscle. "They didn't need to cut me up...couldn't they electrocute me instead?"  
  
"Everyone wants to cut you up, Menke." Philip remarked, leaning on the end of his co-workers bed, a small smile on his face. "You're just the ideal type to sink a knife into, so likeable and everything...with fava beans and a nice chianti."  
  
"I knew you had homicidal tendencies." Annie remarked, her arms around his waist, chin resting on his shoulder, "And you'd look really cute in the mask and chained up to one of those stretcher things, at my mercy..."  
  
"Don't tempt me." Philip's blue eyes glinted impishly. "Bondage fun care of Annie Lawson...I have a sudden urge to be bad!"  
  
Annie smacked him fondly on the backside. "You dare." She warned him softly, ignoring the amused looks from Demi, Menke, Rina and William. "You won't like what I do to you."  
  
"Whatever it is," Philip smirked, winking down at the half-sleeping Menke. "It sounds like it would be a lot of fun."  
  
"Told you he was a randy perv." The dark-haired dancer murmured tiredly. He was drugged up to the gills, everything comfily wrapped in a warm blanket of reassuringly blurry fuzziness, leaving him half-focused, but awake.  
  
"I wonder who could be his influence." Demi whispered softly, brushing a lock of his shorn hair back from his stitched forehead. Menke pulled a face that was his most innocent, schoolboy one. "Don't you try that expression with me, Mister. I know you too well."  
  
Nodding, he let his eyes fall closed, everything still an incredible effort. He'd remained unconscious for almost three full days after they were brought to the hospital, doped up to his ears, while they tried to fix at least some of the damage that had been done.  
  
In particular, he was eager to get rid of the bloody great big hole they'd made in his chest. He recalled something about doctors and the fact they were meant to help, not hack open your chest and play with your heart.  
  
He'd even accidentally knocked a doctor unconscious with his plaster-encased left arm - in a reflex motion - when the poor man had been checking the wound, unaware that Menke's painkillers had not been administered yet.   
  
That was the day he had fully regained consciousness and convinced them to let him share the ward with his wife, sister-in-law and the police chap.  
  
Forcing his eyes open, he found Demi still looking down at him, expression full of tenderness, concern and love. "What's the plan?" He asked softly. "When?"  
  
"As soon as you feel up to it." Demi's eyes were glassy with tears, her right hand wrapped around his softly, left hand brushing his cheek with a feather-light caress. "When you can sit, we'll steal a chair and go for a joyride, maybe mow down a few doctors and orderlies, while we're at it."  
  
He smiled weakly. "Sounds like fun." He managed to say, before letting sleep take him again, the drugs in his bloodstream too much to fight against.  


* * *

  
  
"You sure you're ready for this, love?"  
  
Wincing as his swollen knees were bent, to allow him to sit, Menke nodded, his knuckles whitening when he sank into the low seat of the wheelchair. "I want this over with." He forced his words out through gritted teeth, sitting back.  
  
Demi nodded. Another week had passed since the funeral of Phipps and Menke was now able to sit up and had just been put back on solid foods two days previously.   
  
Still wired up to various drips and wrapped in more bandages than a mummy, he was healing, slowly but surely, the operation-wound in his chest by far the most serious of all his injuries.  
  
"See you when you get back." Rina gave him a reassuring smile from her bed. Will glanced over with a small nod. The pair were sitting, playing cards, as they had been for several hours, with the development that this was now a strip poker game.  
  
That only provided more incentive for Menke to get out of the room, Demi had noted dryly, when the doctors had peered in to find Rina trying to wriggle out of her t-shirt, the topless, bandaged Will complaining that all the bandages ruined the point of the game.  
  
"Try not to catch a cold." Menke smiled back as best he could. His face was a mess, a curve of ten stitches arcing across the left side of his brow, eyes swollen with bruises that were fading into a mouldy yellow.  
  
His long, dark hair had been cut, a large patch shaved off completely to allow the doctors to stitch his scalp, the impact of his head on the steering wheel of the car almost cracking his skull.  
  
Tucking a blanket around his bruised, scared and stitched legs, Demi patted his knee gently, a small smile on her face. "You can talk, mister." She murmured affectionately, raising one hand to brush her fingers over the stubble of his hair, the millimetre long bristles rasping against her fingertips.  
  
"Why did they have to take my mane?" Pouting sullenly, he shifted his weight, the healing holes left by the chest drains and the bullet straining uncomfortably. "I miss my lovely hair!"  
  
"I know, I know." Demi feigned a sigh of exasperation, stepping behind the chair and turning it towards the door. Although still weak herself, her back had healed, her torn and aching muscles functioning better than they had in weeks.  
  
Steering the chair down the long, sterile corridors, the young woman exhaled a slow sigh, raising a hand to brush her hair behind her ears. "You know, Menke," She said, hesitant. "I don't know if this is such a good idea."  
  
Menke glanced up at her, his eyes burning with emerald fire. "You said yourself that we have to deal with this, Demi." He reminded her gently. "Something about having no life until you know its all over and he can't get us."  
  
"Yeah." She nodded reluctantly. "I guess so."  


* * *

  
  
This is it.  
  
Getting these last three months of crapness over, once and for all, not just for Demi's sake, but for mine as well.  
  
We need to face the past, accept that it's all over and that it won't come back and bite us on the butt again, as it has done before.  
  
What kind of man would I be if I told my brave wife that I was about to pee myself with terror and wanted to get up and run away down the halls, screaming and giggling hysterically? I'd be a coward, that's what I'd be.  
  
And I'd be a coward for the rest of my life.  
  
That doesn't bear thinking about.  
  
So, I'm using my Demi's gutsy resolve and strength to give me strength too, so we're effectively leaning on each other to get through this, once and for all. So it will all be over and we can live happily ever after...whatever that means.  
  
And sue the doctors for daring to cut all my hair!  
  
You know, they have no idea how annoyed I am about that! They don't realise how important a tom's mane is to his self-esteem, so now - since I have a head covered with very badly-cropped stubble - I'm not feeling at my peak.  
  
Also, having a bleedin' great big hole in your chest kind of makes you feel a little lower than your best, you realise.  
  
Honestly, I have more stitches in me than a primary school needlework class, all over my face, my arms, legs...even on my bum! You have *no* idea how relieved I am that I was unconscious when they decided to practise their sewing on *that* part of my anatomy!  
  
Happily - though - I can feel all of my body.  
  
Unfortunately, that feeling, in the majority of cases, is pain. I wiggle my toes, it hurts: I nod my head, it hurts : I attempt to hurl a fruity projectile - also known as a Sainsbury's seedless grape - at my sister-in-law, it hurts.  
  
Doctors are useless at treating dancers. They tell us to sit still. That in itself is a challenge no dancer ever wants to contemplate. If we're not dancing, then we always have an excess of energy to burn off unless we want our rumps big enough to span the English channel.  
  
Lucky me, though. I have a physiotherapist while Rina is just left - plastered. Take that in whatever sense you will, but she's hating it. She lived to dance...or to play a practical joke and run like hell on those long legs of hers.  
  
The doctors tell her she probably will never dance again, but this is the wrong person to say "You won't..." to, because, with Rina, absolutely anything is possible. If she wants to dance, she will dance, no matter what anyone says.  
  
And when our mutual enemy said to me that Demi and I would never be able to survive without him there to torment us, I felt a measure of Rina's determination and complete stubbornness to prove him wrong.  
  
So, we will.  
  
Demi and I are strong enough to get through anything together. We're not two soft, timid teenagers. We've been through the fires of hell and...I know we got the ashes to prove it.   
  
Oy vey.  
  
Quoting Meatloaf...what is the world coming to?  
  
But that's songs right. We've suffered, felt the pain, bear the scars and we can get through this, no matter what happens.  
  
And then I'll find a doctor who won't cut a bloody great big hole in my chest!  


* * *

  
  
The twin doors swung inwards, allowing the wheelchair to be pushed through, Menke's uninjured hand tightly locked around the end of the arm of the chair, jaw locked, expression taut and tense.  
  
Behind him, Demi's expression matched that of her husband, her teeth sinking into her lower lip anxiously, eyes flicking this way and that, searching for the malignant presence she had always come to fear.  
  
"Good afternoon, Sir, Ma'am." The police guard rose and inclined her head in a polite gesture. "How are you feeling?"  
  
Menke smiled weakly. "Bald, tired and sore." He replied, his nails sinking into the cushion beneath his hand. "You bored of hanging round this dump yet? Can't be the most exciting thing you've ever done."  
  
"I've been in worse situations." The policewoman's tough facade melted away, replaced with a friendly smile. "Never let yourself be assigned to school duties...little squirts running around, biting your ankles all over the place...sheer hell."  
  
"They say never work with children or animals." Demi agreed ruefully. "I've got the animals at work, then I have this big kid when I get home at night." Her eyes twinkled merrily. "You don't get much worse than that!"  
  
Menke glared up at her. "Hey!"  
  
"Sorry, sweetie." Demi's voice was sugary, one hand rubbing his shoulder fondly. "I forgot that you found the title toddler more appropriate."  
  
Menke rolled his eyes, then turned his attention back to the policewoman. "Are we allowed in to visit?" He asked. "Is it safe?"  
  
"Well, he's not going to be running out on us, that's for sure." Gesturing to the door that lead off from the main ward, the policewoman gave the couple a wry smile. "I think I could probably let you in for a few minutes, if that's enough."  
  
Nodding her head, Demi directed the chair forward slowly. "All we need is a few minutes." She said, her voice quiet, suddenly dull and hollow, her hands white around the handles of the chair. "Thank you."  
  
Letting the door swing open, the policewoman stepped back, letting the blonde woman and her dark-haired husband move into the dull room, stepping in, unobtrusively behind them and shutting the door over quietly.  


* * *

  
  
Watching the bright beam around the door widen into a white rectangle of light, he squinted at the oddly-shaped silhouettes, the dark images slowly coming into focus, recognition immediately sparking in his mind.  
  
"You came." A broken whisper, he spoke through dry lips. His eyes sank closed in shame, in pain, in every other emotion he felt battering through his system, through his heart and mind, but not through his body.  
  
"How could we not?" Demi moved to the side of the bed and sat down, taking one limp hand between hers, eyes full of pity and apology. "How are you feeling?" He opened his eyes to see her smiling gently down at him, in spite of everything.  
  
(Like I want to rip your head off, you bitch!)  
  
"I'm okay." Ronan ignored the little voice that was rabbiting away in his mind. Without the need to control his useless body, he could overpower Macavity mentally, leaving the villain's spirit trapped. "No feeling, but that's a good thing."  
  
(Yeah, you bastard. I'm stuck in here and you're being all nice to that sex-crazed slut! Let me out! I want to kill her!)  
  
/Not a chance in hell, Macavity./  
  
(Come on! You know you want control. Power.)  
  
/Just cos you're a randy pervert? I think not./ He could feel the dark presence of the master criminal battling against his will power, letting his eyes close again, as he fought it. /Is that the best that you've got?/  
  
He could sense black, furious eyes glaring at him. (You think you're so tough! Some day, you'll let your guard down and that's when I'll be back and in control! You can't fight me forever and you know it!)  
  
"Ronan?"  
  
"Give me a minute, Demi." Gritting his teeth, he focused on the conflict gong on within him, his eyes squeezed shut. /You know, I don't give a damn. If you did ever get back in control, it wouldn't do you any good. This body is paralysed, completely. Didn't you wonder why I didn't get up and walk out of here?/  
  
(What?)  
  
/For a genius, you're not very smart./ He let his mental laughter ring out, delighting in tormenting the spirit of the feline within him. /She stabbed you in the back of the neck, remember...just happened that she caught between the vertebrae./  
  
(Which means?)  
  
/This body of mine is useless from the neck down./ Ronan felt like crowing in silent triumph, a small smile flickering on his lips. He knew he was never going to walk again, but in the moments after he had been stabbed, he had felt the dark spirit clamouring to either break out of the body or make it move again. Instead, he had trapped it, holding it to the body, but making certain he still had the control.  
  
Macavity fell silent, his seething fury bubbling through Ronan's mind. (You didn't think to tell me this any time in the last two weeks?)  
  
/What's the fun in that?/ Ronan stifled a chuckle. /Seeing you try to make the body work properly and not realising why it wouldn't...God, it was too funny an opportunity to pass up! You did look kind of stupid./  
  
Again, Macavity seemed surprised into silence.  
  
"Are you all right, buddy?" Menke nudged Ronan's arm with his plaster-cased left arm, concern written on the younger man's face.  
  
Glancing at the dark-haired dancer from beneath half-closed lids, Ronan grimaced. "He's still in here." He whispered, exhaling a breath and allowing himself a small, confident smile. "And he's not happy that I'm controlling him now."  
  
(You don't say!)  
  
/Now you know how it feels, darlin'./  
  
(Don't you dare call me that!)  
  
Ronan smirked inwardly. /Why, darlin'? Don't you like it, darlin'? Does it annoy you as much as it used to annoy me, darlin'?/  
  
(Fine. Be like that.)  
  
Demi looked from Ronan to her husband. "Ronan," The red haired man raised his eyes to her. "Could...could we talk to Macavity?" He wrinkled his brow in confusion. "Don't worry. We only want to gloat."  
  
(Bitch! Bitchbitchbitchbitch!)  
  
Ronan gnawed on his lip. "Give me a moment to reason with him."  


* * *

  
  
Its all over.  
  
Finally.  
  
Macavity's trapped in a prison none of us could even imagine for him, inside the mind of a good man, with no way to escape.  
  
Twisted poetic justice is a great thing.  
  
Still, I can't help feeling sorry for Ronan, having to deal with the monster who tormented Menke and I for so long for the rest of his life. Although he does seem to be relishing the idea of annoying Macavity and who would blame him.  
  
But that's why we came to see him.  
  
Ronan is always going to be a friend, but we have to face the evil that still hides in him. We have to talk to him civilly and rationally, before we stick our tongues out at him and chant "Nanny-nanny-boo-boo!"  
  
Isn't it a wonder to see that there are still some mature and polite individuals in the world?  
  
I kind of wonder what the policewoman is thinking of us. We've just asked a paralysed man to let us speak to someone else...maybe she thinks he has a split personality or something, which - technically - he does.  
  
It's strange to watch the personality shifting.  
  
It's a visible change, as soon as Macavity is allowed control, his eyes taking a strange gleam on, his lips curving in that horribly familiar sneer that's only held at bay by Ronan - no doubt telling Macavity that he's a useless twat.  
  
Ronan's a great guy, but as I've said, its not him we came to see.  
  
It's Macavity.  
  
See! I can say it without screaming it! Aren't we all impressed by Demeter's waning paranoid schizophrenic tendencies?  


* * *

  
  
"Well, well, it's the whore and her slut of a husband."  
  
/You said you would behave!/  
  
(I lied.)  
  
"It won't work anymore, Macavity." Demi's words sounded stronger than she would have though possible. "We're still together and you're trapped until you die of old age. There's nothing you can do to hurt us."  
  
/Atta girl, Demi!/  
  
(Stay out of this!)  
  
/My body./ Macavity received a mental uppercut across the mental jaw. /My rules and my manners, okay, darlin'?/  
  
Menke leaned forward in his chair. "You know, Mac, you weren't anything special. Especially not in the bedroom department." His smirk rivalled Macavity's own. "If you had to chain us up to get us to screw you, it doesn't say much for your technique."  
  
Ronan could feel Macavity's astonishment. Obviously he had expected the couple to either be dead or dying, not stronger than ever and more confident in the face of their tormentor. (I don't get it.)  
  
/It's called love, darlin'./  
  
(Shut the hell up! And don't call me that!)  
  
/It's the truth, darlin'./ Ronan taunted. /They are stronger together than anything you could come up with. You could never have beaten them and that's a fact! You're just a big old sore loser, darlin' and now you're stuck with me til your spirit dies!/  
  
"I'm going to get to you, somehow, you see if I don't." Macavity hissed through his teeth, eyes ablaze with impotent fury.  
  
Demi yawned, turned away from him. "That threat just gets so much scarier, every time we hear it, Mac. Come up with a new line and you might at least have some self-respect. At the moment, you're just a sad loser who liked to bully people because he wanted what they had."  
  
"And your point is...?"  
  
Menke arched a scarred eyebrow. "Mac, face it. You made us both look like hells rejects, so who else could we stay with, but each other? Thanks to you, our marriage is probably stronger than ever."  
  
Growling in useless fury, Macavity was dragged back by Ronan, who chuckled. "You've really pissed the darlin' fella off."  
  
(Don't bloody well call me that!)  
  
/Why, me darlin' fella?/  
  
Falling silent, Ronan paused for a moment, then turned his face towards Menke and Demi with a small smile. "I've got a gift for you both as well." He said. "With all the revenue from McCafferty enterprises, the legal side anyway, I have more than enough to cover hospital costs and so on. There's a lot left over, so I want you to have it."  
  
Demi blinked in surprise. "You mean you really were a legal millionaire? In spite of all the underhand stuff?"  
  
"I was." Ronan nodded, the only gesture he really had left. "And I want to give you something to apologise for being a bastard. It would only go to waste...to the government, I mean, if I didn't have someone to take it off my hands. Use it and go and have yourself a flock of rugrats."  
  
Patting Ronan's hand, Menke muttered. "Don't encourage her. She's broody enough as it is!"  
  
The red haired man chuckled, accepting a tight hug from Demi. "You take care." She ran her hand down his cheek gently. "Don't let him get to you."  
  
(So she still think I have power, eh?)  
  
/In your dreams, darlin'./  
  
"You two just get better, okay?" Wishing he could return Demi's hug, Ronan settled for a kiss on the cheek from the beautiful blonde and grateful smile of her wheelchair-bound, dark-haired and bandaged-up husband.  
  
"We will." They acknowledged, before leaving Ronan and Macavity alone once more, a content smile on Ronan's pale features, as he let his eyes sink closed lazily, a soft yawn escaping him.  
  
/That went well./  
  
(I hate you.)  
  
/You picked me, darlin'./ Ronan smirked. /So you're the only one to blame./  
  
And for the first time in days, Macavity fell silent for more than five minutes, sulking somewhere in the recesses of Ronan's mind.  
  
Somewhere he would be for a very long time.  


* * *

  
  
"So it's over."  
  
Demi nodded, her fingers tangled through her husband's as they slowly walked through the streets that were filled with Saturday afternoon shoppers and tourists, the hustle and bustle of London unchanging.  
  
"Ronan's in a special security hospital." She said. "I got a phone call from William today. He said that the six month rehab has helped and that Ronan no longer seems half as psychotic as he was when they tried to arrest him the first time."  
  
Menke smiled. "I wonder why." He remarked dryly, squeezing her hand.  
  
Pausing at a street vendor, he bought a sprig of lucky heather, turning to pin it on his wife's loose t-shirt. She smiled at him gently, raising a hand to caress his scarred cheek tenderly, his green eyes dark with pleasure.  
  
Looping her arm though his, they started up the busy paved streets, passing the street peformers and easily-impressed tourists. "Have you got them?" She abruptly asked, stopping short, a frown of concern furrowing her brow.  
  
Digging through his pockets, he frowned. Releasing her hand, he dug through his other pockets, a worried look crossing his face, as he looked up at her. "Um...Demi..." She gave him a 'You better not have...' look. He grinned like a naughty schoolboy and pulled the pair of tickets out of his pocket. "Here they are."  
  
"You're an idiot." She smacked him on the chest, golden eyes dancing.  
  
"That's why you love me." He purred, pulling her up close and kissing her softly. Her arms wrapped around him, fingers brushing over the CATS logo on the back of his bomber jacket, as she pulled him closer.  
  
Drawing back, she smirked. "Actually, its because you agreed to go and see Starlight Express with me, but I guess I'll let you off." Running a hand though his semi-regrown hair, she smiled up at him. "We better move, or we'll be late."  
  
"You always spoil my fiendish plans to miss the bleedin' show!" Menke draped an arm around her waist as they walked, occasionally exchanging small smiles and glances.   
  
"Anyone would think you didn't like it." She sighed, in feigned annoyance.  
  
Menke grinned devilishly. "Perish the thought." He said, dropping a light kiss on the tip of her nose. "Just remember its my choice what we do tonight and you can't say no, whether you like it or not."  
  
"After everything we've been through," Demi snuggled closer into his embrace. "I still hate going to shows that had you in them. I mean, how many women want to be reminded that their husbands dressed up like big pussies?"  
  
"If I remember correctly," Menke squeezed her hand. "You loved it."  
  
Hand-in-hand, they walked into the theatre. In spite of everything: life-threatening injuries, months in hospital, mental and physical torture that doctors insisted was called physiotherapy: the couple had still come out smiling.  
  
As they settled in their seats, exchanging innocent looks, they grinned as the overture started up, turning their attention to the 'trains' racing out from various places around the stage, both cheering loudly for Bobo, played by a familiar young actor by the name of Philip Tennant.  
  
Resting her head on Menke shoulder, Demi couldn't help but think that the Demeter-Munkustrap storyline from CATS was much more appealing, as Pearl went with every train in turn, rejecting the one who loved her.  
  
But she wasn't about to admit that to her husband, to give him more ammunition for his next argument about the show.  
  
After all, she half-smiled, he always had his favourites.  


* * *

  
  
Propping her feet on a familiar spot of junk, Demi felt a shiver of delicious anticipation shoot down her spine, the platform-stage starting its familiar slow revolution in time with the deafening bursts of the overture.  
  
"I forgot how amazing it always sounded." Her companion whispered softly, eyes misted with tears, hand groping for Demi's. "God, I missed this."  
  
The blonde nodded in unspoken acknowledgement, the hairs on the back of her neck rising of their own accord. Forcing herself to slower, deeper breaths, she blinked back her own tears, her smile painfully wide.  
  
Finally, the stage was plunged into darkness, a familiar gold-and-black feline creeping out onto the stage, suspicious, uneasy.  
  
A sweeping headlight made both actress and Demi cringe back instinctively, until both seemed to notice another figure crawling langurously over the boot of the car, striking a dramatic pose, eyes focused in the distance.  
  
Slowly, a person at a time, the stage was covered with felines, but still, the feline on the car remained motionless. Demi had to give credit where credit was due. Philip had definitely been a beautiful and amusing Munkustrap, during Menke's absence, but now, her first time seeing this brand new cast, the latest actor playing Munkustrap made her heart leap in her chest.  
  
Gripping her companion's hand, she drew an agonisingly slow breath, swallowed hard as the silver- and black-striped actor smoothly slid down onto the stage, crawling gracefully forward, his body toned, muscled.  
  
Several feet in front of his wife, Menke raised his head slowly. The spotlights played over his silvery features, his expression noble, proud, almost arrogant, but for the suggestion of a smile pulling his lips upwards.  
  
Six months of pain, of rebuilding his life, of rediscovering his self-confidence. Six months of crying into the night, of waking full of terror, of contemplating the advantages of death over an existance with his memories.  
  
But he had made it back.  
  
He was truly Munkustrap once again.  
  
Giving a thoroughly feline twitch of the head, he aloofly looked down at the audience, finding Demi's brillant golden eyes immediately, alongside Rina's dancing brown ones, the younger of the two giving the thumbs up.  
  
His soul sang with joy and exhiliration, the temptation to smile growing with every second. As he had done so many times before, he lazily stood, raising his arms to shoulder level, his expression one of pure satisfaction as he intoned the words that made him who he was.  
  
"Are you blind when you're born?"  


~FIN~


End file.
